Anamchara
by Evie Delacourt
Summary: Dhugal MacArdry works through his feelings for the Lady of Llyr who has stolen his heart. How did she come to be in his King's service? Why do she and his father call each other 'Anamchara,' and what significance does that relationship hold? And why, when he was on the verge of proposing to her, did she decide to leave him for a spiritual retreat in hidden St. Kyriell's instead?
1. Author's Intro & Prologue

**_Anamchara: Introduction_**

_What inspired this story was a conversation with a friend who also read the books years ago, around the same time I did, and her favorite characters were Duncan and Dhugal. We were joking about how we'd both had girlhood crushes on the one main character in the series who was sworn to celibacy, and where was the romance fanfic potential in that? ;-) _

_But then, during that conversation, it hit me that this really could be a fascinating story to explore. What if Duncan were to fall in love again, years after losing his first wife, but now he's under holy vows and, being an honorable man with a sincere vocation to his priesthood, would never violate them? How would he handle that? And, given how young legal manhood is in Gwynedd (Duncan was only 15 when he married and 16 when Dhugal was born, so he'd only be 36-37 once Dhugal turned 20-21), what would happen if, by some odd happenstance father and son both developed a close emotional bond to the same woman? Duncan, of course, couldn't marry her, but how would the characters resolve the emotional conflicts that would be certain to cause? What sort of woman would either man be attracted to in the first place, and how would she have been in a position to meet either, much less get to know either of them long enough for love to develop? (Let's face it, there are few women in the Deryni books, and although the few that are there are quite strong in their own way, for the most part medieval marriages were arranged. Even Richenda had to be widowed from her first husband before she was free to follow her heart and marry Morgan, and even Morgan wouldn't have been free to marry just any woman. Fortunately Richenda was noble-born.) How could I write a heroine who could do more than hang around the ladies' solar doing embroidery, and yet have her fit in at least somewhat plausibly with that time period and society? _

_So I did a bit of Internet research, looking back at ancient Ireland for inspiration, Celtic myths such as the myth of Scathach, the Scottish warrior woman who trained Cú Chulainn, and the myth of Llyr. Also drew some small inspiration from Celtic Christianity as a counterpoint to the Roman Catholic/High Anglican inspired Church of Gwynedd. I postulated the idea of a Celtic island nation, perhaps similar to ancient Ireland, off the southwestern coast of Gwynedd, where maybe some Deryni had fled to over the centuries of Deryni persecution in Gwynedd itself. And from all that, I created a heroine to interact with our old favorites, coming up with a reason why she'd be in Kelson's service, how she'd have known the King's Champion Alaric Morgan, and how she'd eventually have come to know Duncan and Dhugal as well. And out of all of these elements, a story was born. _

_Once I had the idea, of course, I had to write it. Was practically driven to write it, in fact, so the entire novella (or novel? It's nearly 50K words, I think) was done in just three weeks, despite such handicaps as not having all of the original novels in hardcopy anymore, and having to download the Histories of King Kelson Trilogy in audio format and look up the novel synopses on Wikipedia just to refresh my memory of where some events fit into the overall timeline! (Once I did managed to get my hands on the actual hardcopies of The Bishop's Heir, The King's Justice, and Quest for Saint Camber, I'd already uploaded this story elsewhere and linked it to the Deryni Fanfic board at the Rhemuth Castle Forum, and then discovered that Dhugal's Court accent was not nearly as "broad Scots" as it's made out to be in the audiobooks! So if he seems to have far more of an accent than usual in this fanfic, let's just put it down to him lapsing into Border speech in the private company of close friends and family. I considered rewriting Dhugal's dialogue, but given that he's the central character of this story, and he's got a heck of a lot of dialogue, the mere thought of having to write every line of his dialogue over gives me a headache!) This was my first attempt at writing Deryni fan fiction, not to mention also my first attempt at any sort of fanfic of this length and complexity, but it practically wrote itself once I got started, because I was so caught up in the story as it unfolded in my mind that I couldn't do anything_ but_ write it during every free moment that I had until the whole story had been told.  
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_ And then I realized, I had spent three weeks of my life pouring myself into this story basically for a reading audience of one! And even though the original stories have been republished recently due to the first two books of the Childe Morgan series finally seeing print, it's harder to find SF fans who have read the books than it used to be. So I found a readership at the Rhemuth Castle forum. But since I often write multi-chapter stories, I decided to cross post a few here as well, and if there's enough interest, I might transfer more to this site as time permits. (This site makes reading multi-chapter stories easier than a standard forum board, I'm told.) While this was my first Deryni fanfic, I posted a few others here first before posting this one because I was still working out how to adapt this story's unusual format to FFN's chapter-based layout. In the end, I decided to keep the parts as I originally wrote them, which means that some of the "chapters" of this story will be a lot longer than an average "chapter," but I had my reasons for dividing the story up as I did, which I hope will be apparent as the story unfolds, and I hope the two or three "super-chapters" aren't too much of a slog for new readers to get through. The interludes between those will be quite short by comparison, I promise.  
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_My story (including flashback scenes) covers the years 1117-1129, so that's basically the last 3 years of Brion's reign to the winter and spring following Kelson's wedding to Araxie in August, 1128. __Feedback is quite welcome. _  


_Enjoy!_

**Anamchara**

by Evie Delacourt

**Part I—Dhugal's Story**

**Prologue**

The Year of Our Lord 1125

The Duchy of Corwyn

"Once she's recovered from the babe's birth, Princess Rothana plans to go to St. Kyriell's to learn more about the Servants of Saint Camber." The Lady of Llyr's clear seafoam green eyes studied me solemnly as she plucked absently at a blade of grass between us. "I've offered to accompany her, Dhugal."

My mind reeled at the unexpected news. "For how long?" I finally managed, my voice cracking slightly, betraying the strain I felt. I had sensed a growing distance between us since my return to Rhemuth, after King Kelson and I had been presumed dead for weeks following our ill-fated quest for relics connected to Saint Camber. The unexpected separation had only served to convince me that I had fallen irrevocably in love with Catriona, Lady of Llyr. Unfortunately, it seemed to have had an opposite effect on her, and in the past few months since my return to Court, I had sensed her withdrawing from the closeness that had started to grow between us over the previous year.

She shrugged a slim shoulder. "That, I can't say. As long as I'm called to stay, I suppose. There's so much to learn about their Order; it could end up being quite a while."

And there it was, like an invisible wall between us. Her priestly vocation. One which, unlike such vows taken in the Church of Gwynedd, did not prevent her from taking marital vows as well, for the Lady Catriona was a priestess in the Church of Llyr which had its own ways, although in the essentials of our shared faith it remained in unity with the Church of Gwynedd. Still, I sensed that it was not simply the divine call that was causing a breach between us now. No, the Lady was wielding her calling as a shield, protecting herself with it. I could sense that much. The problem was, I had no idea why.

"Well…you're plannin' on returnin' tae Rhemuth at _some_ point, will you no'? Ye've still got other duties tae Kelson…." Other duties related to her other calling, almost like a vocation in its own way and even harder for me to understand than the calling of the priesthood.

She smiled wryly, twirling the plucked blade of grass around one slender finger. "Aye, The Kyle of Shiele will still be in service to the King, should Kelson have need of The Kyle. Just not in Rhemuth. He'll know how to reach me, should he ever be in need of my aid."

_And what of me?_ I wondered. _What of my need?_ But I kept my thoughts as tightly shielded as hers, unwilling for her to see how much she was hurting me. She knew anyway. Her voice softened with her next words as she dropped the blade of grass she was playing with, resting her hand on mine instead.

"Dhugal…_a chara_…I shan't be gone forever, you know."

_My friend_, she called me. But no longer _a chuisle_, my pulse. Had her feelings cooled during my weeks of absence, or was she simply unwilling to admit to them any longer, in light of the headier desires stirring within her due to her divine calling? For I knew, no matter how much I might once have meant to the Lady of Llyr, there was another love more sacred to her than all earthly loves. One that she held even higher than her love for her _anamchara_.

Her _anamchara_, my father.

"Have ye told Duncan yet?"

She nodded. "He knows. I told him earlier this morning."

Aye. Before she'd sought me out. It was the way of things between them, and no surprise to me. Normally the order of the telling wouldn't have mattered so, but at that moment my heart was raw and felt the news as keenly as a slap.

Cat drew her hand back into her lap, interlacing her fingers as she leveled an unfocused gaze in the general direction of the seashore. We listened to the waves of the rising tide come in, but this time the silence between us didn't bring the customary peace of spirit it once had done. I returned my gaze to her face, studying her out of the corner of my eye. It was serene as ever, as still as deep well water, with only the occasional flicker of her eyelashes and the gentle rise and fall of her breathing to break the momentary illusion that I was merely looking at her painted statue. A faint sea breeze wafted through her tawny hair, gently caressing the unbound tresses trailing down her back and causing the narrow leather-bound braids to either side of her face to sway gently like willow branches. A brief moment in time, seemingly preserved forever as if in amber, but suddenly she shifted her attention back to me, and the moment passed.

She stood.

"Go with God, Dhugal." She offered me a hand up, her slender fingers bearing the rough sword calluses from her years of sword practice that had stood her in good stead as The Kyle of Shiele, though they were no less feminine for all that. Not at this moment, as she stood before me not as The Kyle, but as the Lady of Llyr.

"_Dia leat_, Catriona." I reached to embrace the woman I loved, and briefly she softened, holding me tightly as if she could no more bear to walk away from me than I could bear to see her leave. But then her arms dropped to her sides. She turned and walked away, leaving me gazing after her, but she spared no backwards glance.

The next morning saw my departure with Kelson for the Court at Rhemuth. By the time we next returned to Corwyn, the Lady of Llyr was long gone.


	2. Kelson

**Kelson**

The Year of Our Lord 1125

Rhemuth, late summer

"Any word from St. Kyriell's yet, Kel?"

Kelson looked up from the scroll he was studying, nodding. "Well, not _words_, exactly. Two nights ago, I had a dream that Rothana and her entourage arrived safely. It _could_ have just been a dream, but..." He shrugged. "It felt more like a message in vague thought impressions than like a regular dream. Cat's sent such messages before, when the distance between us was too great for her to send a clearer message. I imagine it would've taken a great deal of energy for even a full Deryni with good training to send even _that_ much from St. Kyriell's." He fingered the St. Camber medallion on its chain around his neck, his gray eyes thoughtful. "Maybe there's some better way to communicate over long distances, but if so, it's long been lost to us. If there _is_..." He looked up at me with a wry smile. "I know it will take some time to establish, but for my part, a Deryni Schola can't come soon enough."

I agreed, though for reasons less altruistic than those of my blood brother and Gwynedd's King. A Deryni Schola would eventually need teachers, preferably fully-trained Deryni who could pass their collective lore on to others. And God knew that the Kingdom of Gwynedd had precious few left of _those_, after centuries of Deryni persecution following closely upon the heels of the Interregnum and the Haldane Restoration. No, most of the Schola's first faculty would have to come from outside of Gwynedd, from the best-trained and brightest Deryni of this present generation, now mostly harbored by other lands beyond our borders. And one such Deryni who would be fully qualified to lend her talents and teaching skills to this new enterprise was the Lady of Llyr. The same quest for learning that had drawn her to seek out new knowledge from the Servants of Saint Camber would eventually bring her back to Rhemuth, I felt sure.

I felt the King's questioning mind-touch and looked up to find his eyes still on me, studying me with the same avid interest he'd earlier shown for the scroll he still held. "It's Catriona you're thinking about, isn't it? Again."

I willed myself not to blush, only partially successful.

Kelson sighed. "It's all right, you know. Just because _my_ love life seems to be under a curse doesn't mean everyone else's has to come to a complete stand-still." My surprise must have shown on my face, because he laughed, adding, "What, did you think I hadn't noticed you slipping off for hours on end last winter and spring, and returning barely in time for meetings and Court functions looking rumpled but inordinately pleased with yourself?"

A reluctant grin sprang up unbidden. "It wasn't quite what yer prob'ly imaginin', Kel. It's true we slipped off together a time or two, but we dinnae_—_"

His upraised hand stopped my explanation in mid-stream as a wicked gleam lit up his eyes. "No need for a full confession, Dhugal. Do I _look_ like your priest? Though I do hope you've delegated someone else to keep the ducal and county accounts for Cassan, Kierney, and Transha if your counting skills are so poor you think you only slipped off 'a time or two.'"

I laughed, but sobered almost as quickly. "It's nae use, Kelson. Aye, I do love her. It's been growin' between us for some time, I think, but I knew for sure how matters stood between us before we set off on our quest. At least, I _thought_ I did. But after we came back..." I shook my head. "Kel, she's runnin' as far an' as fast from me now as Rothana is from you, but at least I can _understand_ why Rothana left, even if I dinnae agree with all her reasons. But I dinnae know Cat's reasons at all, and that's what bluidy well hurts th' most." I looked across the table at my blood brother. "_You_ dinnae happen to know why, do ye?"

Kelson looked stunned. "No, Dhugal, I don't." He flushed slightly, looking away. "I suppose I've been so absorbed with trying to deal with losing Rothana, I haven't managed to look beyond that to notice what else has been happening around me. And I _should_ have noticed." The gray Haldane eyes met mine gravely. "I'm so sorry. Is there anything...?"

This time it was I who raised my hand to stop the words from being said. "Nay, it's done. She'll either come back tae me someday or she'll no'. I just wish..." A thought, half-formed, began to well up. "Kel, if I could only know more about her, know _her_ better, maybe I could get enough inside her mind tae know what happened between us, an' where it all went wrong. It might not bring her back tae me, but at least...maybe I'd understand it all a bit more. In so many ways, ye know her a lot better than _I_ ever did, Kelson. Or at least ye've known her a lot longer." I shrugged. "I'd known The Kyle for a while, or rather, I'd met 'Kyle o' Sheele' and only saw the illusion, figurin' like most o' yer men that 'e was just one of yer men-at-arms. But I never actually even knew Cat as _Cat_ until th' aftermath o' th' Mearan campaign."

Kelson nodded. "Well, what knowledge I have of the Lady of Llyr, that much I can give you, if it will help." He smiled wryly. "It might not, you know. Catriona is...complex."

"Aye. I'll grant ye that." I sighed. "But anythin's better than nothin'."

My blood brother offered me his hand. I took it, lowering my shields to his mind touch, allowing the familiar rapport to grow between us as he began to cast his mind back to the days of his earliest acquaintance with the Lady Catriona, the slow trickle of shared memories growing steadier and surer as he thought back across the earliest years of his kingship.

_The newly crowned King of Gwynedd sat in his late father's solar, skimming over the documents that his chief advisor, the Deryni Duke of Corwyn, had brought for him to read. Alaric had left soon thereafter, saying he would return shortly. Kelson found himself dividing his time between actually reading the papers set before him and gazing idly out the rain-streaked window to one side of him, wishing he could be somewhere else, doing something else, than what he was doing at the moment._

_ The door opened. A squire in Haldane livery entered, walking across the room to bow before Kelson and quietly stating, "It's Duke Alaric Morgan and a lady requesting an audience with you, Sire."_

_ A lady? "Did you happen to get her name, Ivo?" Kelson asked._

_ The squire blushed, mortified. "I'm sorry, no, I forgot, Sire. I'll go back and ask."_

_ Kelson waved the offer away with a sympathetic smile, knowing that the nervous young man before him was nearly as new in his position as Kelson was in his. "No matter. I'm sure Morgan will see to the introductions. You can see them in, and then wait in the antechamber in case I have need of you later. Thank you." _

_ Kelson stood and stretched, glad for a distraction from the afternoon's tedium. As his body relaxed once more, the two visitors entered the solar. Alaric Morgan's tall form, clad in his customary black garb, was only a hand's span taller than the woman beside him, telling Kelson at a mere glance that she was no dainty little waif, although her lithe frame held a certain coltish grace that, while still retaining a touch of adolescent awkwardness, was no less feminine for that. She wore a simple white linen gown with a pale green surcoat over it, belted at the waist and embellished only with embroidered knotwork at neckline and hem, yet around her neck and upper arms a gold torc and wide engraved bracelets denoted high rank, as did a simple gold circlet adorning her brow. Her tawny hair flowed down her back, mostly unbound as befitted a maiden, although shorter than that of most ladies of Gwynedd, stopping just a little below her shoulders. Kelson guessed her age to be slightly older than his own, but not by much—perhaps a handspan of years at most. He couldn't recall having seen her before, and yet, as he studied her curiously, something about her seemed oddly familiar._

_ "Your Majesty, may I present Catriona, the Lady of Llyr. You may remember her brother Michael, High Lord of Llyr, from his years of serving as a squire in your father's Court."_

_ Kelson nodded slowly, his mind supplying the image of a young man, knighted several years earlier, with the same tawny hair and clear green eyes as the younger woman before him. The woman in question swept him a low, graceful curtsey. He took her hand, bidding her to rise, and bent slightly to mime a courteous kiss of greeting over her fingers, lips not quite making contact with the back of her hand. Despite the briefness of the contact, he sensed something out of the ordinary about the Lady of Llyr, an impression of leashed power, and straightened abruptly as he released her hand, looking momentarily startled. Her lips quirked slightly in a suppressed smile._

_ Morgan's faint smile widened. "Catriona is also Deryni. And, in fact, you've met her before now. She was in your father's service."_

_ Kelson's gaze, briefly diverted to his chief advisor, flickered with surprise back to the woman's face, again trying to place her. He couldn't imagine how the late King Brion might have engaged a woman's services, unless perhaps she had knowledge he might have needed to call upon in Council. Or perhaps she had helped train the younger ladies-in-waiting under Aunt Meraude? But had that been the case, he'd have encountered her fairly often; the ladies' solar was hardly _that_ far removed from his personal chambers. Surely…no, she couldn't have been his father's paramour! Kelson was well aware that there had been some estrangement between his parents in the latter years of their marriage, but surely Alaric wouldn't have..._

_ Catriona laughed, wrenching Kelson's puzzled imaginings back to the present. "General Morgan," she chided gently, "you may delight in dressing as if you're evil incarnate, but don't leave my brother of Gwynedd in suspense." Turning her attention back to Kelson, she explained. "I was in another form when last we met." She spared another quick glance at Morgan, who nodded in seeming agreement at some silent thought that passed between them, and then she changed before Kelson's stunned eyes, the woman morphing into a young man-at-arms, still clad in the same raiment which—Kelson belatedly realized—looked just as appropriate garbing a youth as a maiden, unlike the fuller-skirted gowns favored among the ladies of Gwynedd's Court._

_ He blinked. The young man—or, rather, the illusion of one, for now that he looked more closely with his Deryni senses fully engaged, Kelson could see that it was mere illusion—remained before him a few moments longer before the glamour faded away, leaving the Lady of Llyr standing before Gwynedd's King once more._

"And that's how I first met 'Kyle of Shiele,'" Kelson said, stretching his long legs before him to enjoy the hearth's warmth. "Or, more accurately, The Kyle of Shiele. It's one of her lesser titles among the people of Llyr, though when she takes on that illusion, it also serves as a convenience. 'Catriona,' or even 'Cat,' isn't a particularly masculine name, you know."

I nodded. "Aye. Afore Cat explained how she came by th' title, I just assumed that 'Kyle' was of Sheele, the earldom north of Valoret."

Kelson chuckled. "Most folk do. I prefer to keep it that way." He stood, moving closer to the fireplace, and picked up a poker to stir idly at the coals.

"So, The Kyle started out in yer father's service, but transferred those loyalties to ye when ye became King?"

"Yes. Not without some qualms on my part, though, I assure you. I needn't tell you the hazards to her, even on top of the mere fact that she's Deryni and that in itself is still enough to get her killed in some areas, though we're doing our best to change that now. But I suspect, whether I willed it or not, she would offer me The Kyle's services anyway, unless I directly forbade her." He shrugged. "Unlike most who answer to me, she's not fully my subject." Kelson shot me a sidelong glance and a wry smile. "God only knows what she'd do if I tried. Probably find some other way to help my House that gives me equally sleepless nights."

"She's only yer subject insofar as she inherits her father's lands off the northern coast of Gwynedd, aye?"

He nodded. "Yes. But her brother is sovereign of Llyr now, so her greater fealty is to him. But since it's in Llyr's best interests to continue in amity with Gwynedd—or at least with the House of Haldane—and in my own best interests to take full advantage of any Deryni's services who is willing to assume the risks of lending their powers to use secretly on Gwynedd's behalf…." He allowed the sentence to trail off, staring down at the fire, his features seeming shadowed despite the flicker of light playing across them, and added. "Still, damn it, Dhugal, there are times when I wish with all my heart I had refused her." He blinked away sudden tears. I thought I could guess at the reason, although I knew almost none of the details of the story behind it.

"Because o' Wencit o'Torenth?"

"She's told you, then?" Kelson looked somehow both pained and relieved.

I chose my next words carefully. "Aye. In part. I know tha' Derry an' Ca—Kyle were both taken captive while scoutin,' an' tha' ye dinnae get Derry back until th' night afore th' Duel Arcane wi' Wencit an' his men. An' ye very nearly dinnae get Cat back at all." I looked down at my hands. "I dinnae know much more'n tha', tho', 'cept that Wencit saw through her glamour in th' end, an' was nae more merciful tae her than he was tae poor Derry." Possibly even less so, I suspected, but was suddenly reluctant to ask.

"Kel...what exactly happened at Cardosa? How badly was Cat injured?"

"Physically? She was nearly dead when we rescued her from Wencit's cell, as much from near-starvation as outright injury. Emotionally and psychically?" He closed his eyes, not quite managing to suppress a shudder. "Well, the fortunate thing is that she was a fully trained Deryni; I suppose that's what kept her from developing the same horror for magic that Derry developed from his own experience at Wencit's hands. But she was in rough shape, and it took all of Morgan's power as a healer, both physical and psychic, to bring her back to full health. And Father Duncan's as well, though…." Kelson swallowed. "There were reasons I felt it more appropriate to hand her over primarily to Morgan's care, at least at first." The clear gray eyes glanced across at me. "She's not told you any of this, has she?"

I shook my head slowly. He drew a deep breath, let it back out with an explosive sigh.

"Well, if you're determined to have Catriona to wife, there's more you probably ought to know, but it's not my place to share it. I'm sure…well, I _hope_…that if she decides to accept you, she'll tell you the rest in her own time."

I pondered Kelson's words, wondering what it was that he was leaving out. Once, when Morgan's trusted aide Sean Lord Derry had been well into his cups, I had managed to get him to open up a little bit about what he had endured in Wencit's dungeons. Just the tiniest of insights, for even in his drunken state (and given Derry's near-legendary tolerance for strong drink, it had taken an insane amount of ale to bring him to that pass!) Derry was reluctant to revisit those old nightmares, mercifully toned down though they were by Morgan's mind-healing. But I had gathered that Wencit had ransacked Derry's mind to discover his greatest fear—the fear of losing his honor, his integrity—and then had proceeded to launch a full-on assault on this weakness, violating his prisoner in body, mind, and—at the end—down to his very spirit and soul.

What had Catriona, Lady of Llyr, most feared? What had Wencit discovered lurking in the deep recesses of her unshielded, merasha-fuddled mind and preyed upon, unleashing his full wrath on one who had dared to oppose his desire for conquest?

I thought upon the lady I loved, strong and fiercely proud, and thought I knew the answer.

"Wencit raped her, dinnae he?" I forced myself to meet my blood-brother's eyes. "Answer me truly on tha' at least, Kel. Ye know it willnae change my feelin's for her, but I need tae know if that's the reason she'll no' have me. If she's afraid o' th' marriage bed..."

Kelson shook his head with a faint compassionate smile. "No, whatever her reasons, I don't think that's one. Not one she'd consider insurmountable, at any rate. Dhugal, when have you ever known Catriona to run from her fears? No, she's more likely to charge them head-on until she's bloody well vanquished them, like the ancient line of warrior-queens of Shiele before her. You know her better than that!" His gaze dropped down to the fire before us for a long moment, then rose again to meet mine squarely. "Yes, that's one way Wencit of Torenth thought to break her, and it very nearly did, though not for the usual reasons. A mere rape would've almost been a kindness. No, Wencit's cruelty was not merely an assault on her body; he struck far deeper to her very heart and soul. But if Cat's not spoken to you of it yet..." He closed his eyes again, obviously struggling within himself for the right words to say. "Dhugal, Catriona has risked all—has nearly _given_ all—in my service, without obligation, for God knows I'd release her from all such risks if she'd allow me, and has done so for no reason apart for love and loyalty to me and my House and her calling to serve the Deryni of Gwynedd in this way. If she's not ready to share all of her secrets with you yet, then I must honor her choice. I'd not take _that_ from her as well, not even for you."

I knew that Kelson had offered up all he was willing to share on the matter, so I pressed him no further. Anything else I might learn of the Lady of Llyr would have to wait for another place and time.


	3. Interlude I

**Interlude**

The Year of Our Lord 1125

Rhemuth, Christmas Court

The first of the winter snows reflected the dim glow of the pale moonlight outside my bedchamber window at Rhemuth Castle. I gazed at the icy courtyard below, the snow-caked rooftops beyond the castle proper, and beyond the city walls, the open expanse of fields, now stripped bare of their harvest and blanketed by winter's chill. I remembered what those fields had looked like in the year before this one. The autumn and winter of 1124 to 1125, after our return from the Mearan campaign and before Kelson and I had set forth on our Camberian quest only this past spring, but seemingly half a lifetime ago.

The year had begun with violence, for at its outset Kelson had found himself both newly married and newly widowed in the space of mere minutes, his fragile hope for peace between Gwynedd and Meara pouring out her life's blood onto the slick stone floors of the Cathedral. It was an outrage that led instead to full-out war with the rebels of Meara, and to no small portion of guilt in Kelson's heart over his inability to prevent harm from coming to his beautiful young bride, and in mine for having been the one who had abducted her from Ratharkin and started the whole chain of events which would lead up to that fatal moment. Although our confessor had absolved us of that guilt, reminding us that even Deryni can't predict the future.

Our confessor. Bishop Duncan McLain, whom I'd also discovered on that same fateful day had actually been my father in the flesh as well as a father in spirit, a discovery that had brought great joy and, later, comfort during an otherwise sorrowful week.

Yes, the year had begun with violence, and escalated into the horrors of war and even more bloodshed and loss, including the near-loss of my new-found father. And yet, as summer came to a close, so did the strife in Meara, and the army of Gwynedd returned to Rhemuth at last, to enjoy the rest of the year in peace and to recover from our scars, both physical and emotional.

And it was during those closing seasons of 1124 and the birth of the new year, here in Rhemuth, when at long last I got to know the Lady of Llyr, not merely in her guise of Kyle of Shiele, but finally in her true form. Came to know and grew to love Catriona, that enigmatic Lady who shared a bond with my father that I had never fully understood but had come to accept, for it seemed as much an integral part of her being as her quick and ready smile, her merry laughter, her serene joys and rare but tempestuous furies, her passion for her music, her sacred priesthood and her God.

The fields outside the city walls glistened with frost now, but in that autumn of 1124 they had shone golden with the warmth of the waning year's sunlight dancing on the spring planting of wheat, now grown ready for harvest.

I closed my eyes, letting my mind drift back to an idyllic afternoon on one of those enchanted autumn days when I had lain in the embrace of my heart's desire in fields of gold.

_She lay, eyes closed, on the grassy verge hidden between the tall stalks of wheat in the fields surrounding us, relaxing in the shade of a large oak, savoring the sun's warmth on her face as a breeze toyed with the tendrils of golden-brown framing her head like a halo of wheaten silk. I sat beside her, acutely aware of her body's warmth beside mine, of the quiet rise and fall of her breasts beneath the silk gown she wore. She seemed almost asleep, but the gentle cadence of her breathing was not that of slumber but of simple contentment in the moment._

_ I leaned back on one elbow, turning my body slightly to face her, to watch her as she rested thus. She sensed my gaze and smiled, laughing lightly, her dark honey lashes fluttering open to meet my gaze with her own clear, appraising regard._

_ "What is it you're thinking, Dhugal MacArdry, and you so tightly shielded?" she teased, her eyes gleaming with mirth._

_ "Do ye really want tae know?" I riposted, stalling for time, not sure if I was ready to share what had been going through my mind as I watched her._

_ Her smile gentled. "Aye." The clear green eyes shone up at me. "Share your thoughts with me, Dhugal a chara. The Cat won't bite." The corners of her eyes crinkled slightly in suppressed laughter. "Unless of course that's what you're hoping for." The laughter broke free as my cheeks warmed for reasons completely unrelated to the sunlight pouring through the oak branches overhead. _

_ In for a penny, in for a pound. I leaned in towards Catriona, my free arm lightly encircling her as if to hold her down, although I kept my embrace light. The laughter in her eyes died, although a trace of a smile remained at the corners of her lips. I held her gaze with mine, silently questioning._

_ The pale green eyes studied my face, quietly trusting, and then slowly she reached her near hand up to stroke my cheek. "Aye, you may, a chuisle mo croi," she said, as if I'd already asked the question in my heart. "I have wondered also, you know."_

_ I hadn't known, and my heartbeat quickened within me as my mind translated the endearment from her island dialect to my border tongue. "O pulse of my heart," she had called me, and the realization stilled my fear that I might cause her offense by my boldness._

_ I bent to claim her lips with my own, tentatively at first but then with growing confidence, deepening the kiss even as I drew her closer to the shelter of my body, drinking in the heady joy of this first ardent embrace even as her shields enveloped my own, encouraging me to drop the mental barrier I'd erected between us. I followed suit, opening my shields only to envelop her within them, following up the heady excitement of the physical contact with the even deeper closeness of shared minds for a few brief, intoxicating moments, although she broke off the mental caress before it could become too intimate._

_My lips continued their exploration, trailing downwards, tracing the line of her jaw and back up towards her temple, then questing down again to follow the soft curve of her neck. At that she stopped me, chuckling softly as she laid a gentle fingertip upon my lips until I leaned back. She sat up, running her fingers through her hair to shake the loose grass out of it, and gave me a sidelong glance through her lashes._

_ "Enough, chuisle. Best to end this now, before we do anything we'd have need to confess later." She grinned at me, and my mind flashed unbidden to an imagined image of the bishop my father, his ecclesiastical stole of office draped over his shoulders, his bright blue eyes sternly reproving as he awaited my confession. My ardor cooled, and the lady by my side laughed. _

_ "Tha' would be awkward," I agreed with a wry grin of my own._

_ "We'd best head back to the Castle now. It will be dark soon, and too prolonged an absence would be even more awkward to explain."_

_ I stood, offering my hand to the Lady of Llyr, and she took it, rising gracefully to her feet and allowing me to keep her hand in mine for most of the walk back into Rhemuth._


	4. Morgan

_Author's note: Morgan's section of the story and Duncan's section that will come up shortly are both "super-sized" segments of the overall story. I considered breaking both up into smaller "chapters," but since each one is an extended conversation with shared memory flashbacks, there was really no logical stopping place to divide either section up into smaller pieces. Readers who have trouble reading long passages of text on-screen might find it easier to read these two long passages in hard copy using the browser's Print feature. The other "chapters" shouldn't have this problem, but when I first wrote this story, I was thinking in terms of Parts and Interludes, not short chapters, so each section of the story is just as long or as short as it needed to be to best serve the story's purpose. I will wait an extra day or two after posting each of the two super-long chapters to give anyone who is following along as I post them a chance to finish that section and recuperate before I post the next one. ;-)_**  
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**Morgan**

The Year of Our Lord 1126

Coroth, springtime

"Where were ye when ye firs' met Catriona o' Llyr?"

I sat in a window seat at Alaric Morgan's ducal seat of Coroth, staring out at the sea below, just beyond the castle walls, and remembering my last visit to Morgan's lands. Morgan sat nearby, tallying up his accounts with his counting sticks. He cocked his head as he pondered my question.

"Hm. Do you mean the Lady, or Kyle of Shiele?" His quicksilver grin flashed as he rearranged a few of the tally sticks on the chequered tablecloth before him.

"Both. Either."

"We were at Cassan. Duncan and I had gone there to visit your grandfather Duke Jared and his new wife Duchess Margaret." He leaned back, his steel gray eyes losing their focus as he stared off in the distance, recapturing the memory. "This would have been several years ago, close to the end of King Brion's reign. Brion was visiting also and had brought along one of his younger knights, Sir Michael—this was before he became High Lord of Llyr—and a youth I took to be Michael's squire. A boy he called Kyle. They were to accompany King Brion as far as Cassan, rest there for a few days, and then the two would continue on to their mother's lands off Cassan's western coast.

"The day after we arrived, Duncan and I went for a ride around his ancestral lands. As we started back towards the keep, we saw two figures in the distance sparring with practice swords. One was Sir Michael. The other, judging by height and hair color, we took to be young Kyle, but as we drew closer, we saw that despite both fighters' masculine form of dress, the second figure was clearly female." Morgan looked across the room at me, a mischievous grin tugging at his lips. "Would you like to see my very first impression of Catriona of Llyr?"

Curious, I crossed the room, sitting at the exchequer table beside Morgan. He laid his hand on my wrist and, as I lowered my shields to him, he entered light trance and established rapport between us.

_Two figures, tawny-haired, both tall but one nearly a handspan taller. The smaller of the two launched an offensive, deftly wielding the practice sword with good speed and accuracy of aim, although the blows were skillfully parried by the taller fighter's shield. The defender's return strokes were less lightning-swift but delivered with greater strength. Both were but lightly clad, bare-legged under simple bleached linen tunics that loosely covered their forms to mid-thigh, their feet shod with high-laced sandals of supple leather. A sword-belt was the only other accessory worn by either, cinching their tunics more tightly about their waists, and both had sweat-soaked hair pulled back into a style much like a border braid._

_ Alaric and Duncan drew closer to watch the match. As they approached, the smaller fighter saw a vulnerability in the larger one's defenses and struck, blindingly fast, leaping back out of range of the defender's sword almost as quickly after the attacking sword's point struck home. The taller figure grinned and bowed, acknowledging the kill. A merry laugh from the smaller fighter carried over the distance between them and the approaching Duke of Corwyn and his cousin of Cassan._

_ The smaller figure turned slightly, bringing up a slender arm to wipe a moist brow before tugging the sweat-soaked fabric of her tunic slightly away from her neck to allow the cooling sea breeze freer passage between damp linen and skin. _

_ Duncan reined in his horse, glancing at his cousin. "Jesú, she's a girl!"_

_ Morgan also stopped his mount in its tracks, equally startled, and took a more careful look. "No. A young woman, more like." He shot a teasing grin at his cousin the priest. "Shall we go introduce ourselves?"_

_ The priest's blue eyes met his ducal cousin's gaze with a knowing twinkle. "Absolutely! _After_ dinner, once she's had a chance to freshen up and put on more clothing. Come along, Alaric; it's rude to stare."_

_ The sandy-haired Duke cast a wistful glance back over his shoulder as the two walked their horses past the grassy clearing. "Clearly a woman, Duncan. If you can't tell the difference between a girl and a woman at _your_ age..."_

_ A quiet chuckle. "Oh, I can tell." A quick grin. "I'm just trying very hard to forget, if you don't mind."_

_ "Is that your way of saying 'Get thee behind me, Alaric Morgan?'" Duncan's cousin joked._

_"Never! If you're behind me, I won't be able to keep an eye on you and keep you out of trouble. Besides, you're hardly on the same par with Satan, Alaric. You just like to dress that way."_

I brought myself out of the rapport to smile at Alaric. "I was seeing tha' through yer eyes, o'course, but Duncan looked a lot younger than I remember ever seein' him, though I s'pose I must have done so a time or two if he came tae Rhemuth durin' my days as a page there. How long ago was all tha'?"

"A little short of a decade, I think." Alaric looked away, counting back the years. "Yes, about three years before Brion's death." He looked back at me. "Catriona would've been around sixteen then, I believe, and Duncan and I both in our mid-twenties."

"Was she already in Brion's service then?"

Morgan shook his head. "The Kyle was, though. Brion knew, of course, that the Kyle persona was merely a skillful illusion created by Catriona of Llyr, but I think it eased his conscience to make a strict distinction between the two."

I nodded. "Kelson told me he's had qualms of his own about sendin' a lady intae battle, even one descended from a long line of warrior-queens." I sighed. "Morgan...could ye show me more? Show me Cat as ye knew her later, after Kelson came intae his throne an' Wencit of Torenth stalked Gwynedd's borders, threatenin' invasion. I need to know what shaped her intae th' woman she is now."

Morgan regarded me with a sober expression. "Those were dark times, Dhugal, with many memories best left buried. Are you _certain_ you want me to call up those old ghosts?"

"Aye. I need tae know. I'm aimin' tae marry her, Alaric, if Cat'll have me, but I cannae coax her intae it if I dinnae know what I'm up against. An' also..." I paused, trying to figure out how to phrase the question that had ever dogged my mind. "I know she an' Duncan are uncanny close, but...how did tha' all start? It's no' usual for a woman an' a priest, much less a bishop, tae be quite that..." I searched for the right word to describe the bond I'd observed between my father and the woman I hoped to wed.

"Intimate?" Alaric supplied quietly.

I looked up, startled.

"Aye, I s'pose. No' that I'm sayin' I think they've ever actually done aught _improper_...or at least I find it hard tae imagine that they have..." My voice trailed off as I suddenly felt uncomfortable, wondering if I really wanted to know all that Morgan knew about the relationship between the lady I loved and my father, her _anamchara_.

"If by that you're asking if Duncan has ever broken his priestly vows with her, the answer is no. Or at least I can assure you of that with near-certainty, though I'll concede that my cousin is as human as the next man, and yes, it's a temptation I'm sure he's occasionally struggled with. I've no reason to believe he's ever succumbed to it, though. Obviously I'm not his confessor, but I'm as close to one as he has in the secular world. But I can imagine you probably have a lot of questions needing answers when it comes to that relationship, especially if you're in love with Catriona." He sighed. "Yes. I'll show you what you want to know. But I warn you, some of it is very hard knowledge, and you might not thank me for the sharing of it later."

Morgan stood, crossing the room and returning a few moments later with a bottle and two goblets. He placed both goblets on the table before us, careful not to disturb his counting sticks, and uncorked the bottle, pouring out a generous amount of the crimson fluid it contained for both of us.

"Fianna wine, an especially good vintage. Drink up; you'll be in need of it later when you've seen what I have to show you about our dealings with Wencit." Despite the wry smile that briefly flickered across his features, I could tell this was no jest.

Morgan sat once more, kicking his booted feet out in front of him and settling himself more comfortably into his chair. "All right then. Let's take on the 'how did a celibate priest of Gwynedd and a chaste priest of Shiele ever become so close?' question first. While I can't say I fully know the answer to that one, at least it's a bit easier to start off with than 'what the bloody hell actually happened at Cardosa?' Time enough to tackle that one once the Fianna's had time to take effect. God knows I'll need the extra fortification to dredge up _those_ old memories!"

I raised an eyebrow but remained silent, unwilling to interrupt for fear of stopping Morgan's flow of thought now that he'd agreed to satisfy my need for answers despite his obvious reservations about doing so.

"First off, let's tackle what those vows actually mean. Do you know the difference between vows of celibacy and vows of chastity? I don't want to assume; a lot of people don't."

I waggled my hand in a 'sort-of-Yes, sort-of-No' gesture. "I know priests in Gwynedd cannae marry because of their vows, and yet knights can, even though we're sworn tae chastity." I grinned. "Which has tae be the most frequently broken vow in all Christendom, I s'pose, for if it means wha' I've always thought it does, fewer knights are as good in th' keepin' of it as in th' swearin'. When I was a squire, th' joke was 'Chastity is th' vow every hot-blooded young knight hopes tae break.'"

Alaric Morgan laughed. "Yes, I imagine that old saw's been around since the concept of chivalry was first invented. But you're on the right path." He lifted his goblet, taking a deep swallow, then pursed his lips thoughtfully as he studied the dark red wine it contained. "But to unpack the concepts a bit more…well, let's start with chastity. It's easier." He grinned at my upraised eyebrow. "To _explain_, that is. The vow of chastity has to do with moral purity; that is to say, the responsible use of our natural, God-given desires. It is a vow to submit those desires to faithfulness to one's current relational state. By that I mean, if one is married, then chastity is expressed by absolute faithfulness to one's spouse, not by sexual abstinence. In fact, a married man or woman is expected _not_ to abstain. If a marriage isn't consummated, it was never valid to begin with, and that provides the neglected spouse grounds for an annulment. Continued refusal of physical relations can also constitute such grounds." Morgan grinned. "Contrary to what a few dried up old sticks in the Church might preach, there is nothing at all wrong with marital sex—marriage is, after all, one of the blessed sacraments!—and it isn't simply intended for procreation. Duncan would tell you such dogma is wholly unsupported in Holy Scripture, and only crept into certain circles of theological thought later by way of Gnostic influences on Holy Church's thinking. And Catriona would say..." He laughed. "I once heard Cat tell Denis Arilan she was convinced that the notion only continues to get passed on because certain misogynistic priests of Gwynedd are envious of their Llyrian brothers' and sisters' freedom to marry or not marry, and pissed off because they aren't given the choice of getting any. But she might just be a bit biased in that assessment." His gray eyes gleamed with bright amusement as he took another sip of his wine. "Of course, for unmarried men and women under vows of chastity, the vow is expressed differently. In that case, sexual abstinence _is_ required, for it would be morally irresponsible to risk conceiving a child in a relationship where the partners have made no formal commitment to stay together afterwards to provide for their children's care. And for that matter, in many cases if not all, there is a level of emotional attachment which forms as a result of the sexual bond, if not on both partners' part, then at least on one end of the relationship. For the more attached partner, that can be a great source of pain. Such attachments are to be avoided if one is unwilling to commit oneself wholeheartedly to that other partner. And if one _is_ willing to make such a commitment, then the proper expression of that willingness is marriage. With me so far?"

I nodded.

"All right. So that's the sort of vow that Catriona is under. And you and I as well, as knights of Gwynedd, although you're right in pointing out that many fall short of that ideal. And even among those who make an honest effort, there are sometimes lapses. Chastity is damned difficult, and all knights understand that, I think, which is why you'll never see a Court of Chivalry called on a knight who finds himself forsworn in that part of his chivalric oath. Not unless he's committed a gross violation of the vow. Prince Ithil of Meara's rape of the Princess Janniver would be one example, except that he had already earned a sentence of execution for his greater crime of treason against the Crown, so a Court of Chivalry on top of that would've been pointless. But normally such lapses are considered a private matter between a man, his wife if he's married, his confessor, and God."

I took a few sips of my own wine, savoring its rich flavor, and nodded for Morgan to continue.

"Now for the vow of celibacy, which is both much simpler and yet far less so. On the surface of things, the vow of celibacy is simply the vow never to marry. Except that the implications of that vow, of course, are much farther reaching than that. The most obvious is, if one is to be _truly_ faithful to the unmarried state, one must also live chastely, for that vow must be kept within the fuller context of all of our Lord's other commandments regarding relations between the sexes. Otherwise, any priest with a less than scrupulous conscience and sense of honor would be free to satisfy his carnal desires in pretty much any way, up to and including hammering any number of winsome wenches into his mattress." He paused to grin at me as I nearly choked on my mouthful of Fianna. "Yes, I had exactly the same reaction to that mental picture the first time Duncan casually tossed that example my way."

"_Father_ said that?!"

Morgan regarded me over his wine glass, a devilish twinkle in his gray eyes. "He was…somewhat less than sober at the time. If you ever want a truly entertaining evening, Dhugal, engage Duncan in a theological discourse when he's in his cups. If you can ever catch him_ that_ deeply in his cups, that is. It happens only rarely, so you have to seize the moment." He traced the rim of his goblet with an idle finger, then continued. "The reasoning behind the Church of Gwynedd's mandate of celibacy for its priests, as I understand it, is that it frees our priests and episcopate to fully devote themselves to their divine service. For that matter, the Church of Shiele isn't _opposed_ to vows of celibacy; it merely leaves the matter up to individual conscience rather than making it mandatory for all clergy. But for those who take those vows, the intent isn't to shut oneself away from human relationships. Instead, it's a commitment to place the love for God above all other loves, in much the same way as a married man vows to forsake all other women in deference to his chosen bride. So the question also arises as to what it means to be fully faithful in the context of what is, essentially, a vow of lifelong marriage to the Divine. And _that_ is where a variety of stumbling blocks and pitfalls can lie, and sometimes they come down to matters of individual susceptibilities and conscience. I think it's safe to say that most of your father's personal struggles are in this gray area, in trying to find the proper balance between not denying his own humanity and his own needs, yet striving to remain ever faithful to his priestly calling."

I cocked my head at Morgan, considering this statement. "How so? I'm no' sure I understand."

"Well, for one thing, there is nothing in Duncan's priestly vows which prohibit him from loving another person. In fact, he's _commanded_ to love others; we all are. But more to the point, there's also nothing in his vow that says outright that he is forbidden to fall in love—after all, it's the sort of thing that can happen to a man despite his best efforts to avoid it. God knows _I_ speak from personal experience! Richenda was still married to Bran Coris when I first met her, so there was no question in my mind at all that she was forbidden to me while he still lived. That didn't stop my heart from feeling what it did for her, though, and I had to work through some ethical dilemmas as a result until Bran's death freed her to marry again. In Duncan's case, the dilemmas are only slightly different. How does a celibate priest appropriately express deep affection, and even love, for a woman he can never marry, and is there any way he can honorably do so without being unfaithful to the divine relationship which must always come foremost?"

I nodded. "So, _is_ there?"

Alaric smiled, flipping one palm up in a 'Who knows?' gesture. "Hard to say. Duncan's only had a little bit short of a decade to work through the puzzle. I'm certain he'll figure out a satisfactory answer eventually, hopefully sometime in this life. Touch your nose. Can you still feel the tip?"

"What?" My hand moved up to check in sheer reflex as my mind tried to make sense of the abrupt change of topic. "Yes. Why?"

"Well, finish off your goblet and I'll give you a refill. You wanted some answers, and some things are easier shown than told. I'll start with the easier bits, and only hit you with the hard ones once you're well and truly anesthetized."

I downed several more swallows of the Fianna until I reached the bottom of the glass. Morgan poured again, then set the bottle back on the table and offered again to establish rapport. I lowered my shields again and re-entered the mental link.

_The army of Gwynedd was on the march, approaching the Cardosa Plain. The beauty of the day cloaked the ugliness which awaited them, although the sight of buzzards circling high in the sky, descending on some kill as yet unseen, was an ominous omen._

_ A scout approached, riding up to the newly-crowned King, looking pale. Kelson heard his news, gray eyes hardening, then motioned to Alaric. They rode forward, close enough to peer into a small copse of trees sheltering a shallow ravine._

_ A detachment of soldiers stood there, waiting. Silently. Too silent._

_ Another cry, this one from further ahead. The frantic rush of hooves returning to bring more news, more horror. Whispers grew as the horror sank in amongst the ranks of men who followed Kelson's banner._

_ Morgan and the boy King continued on to face what lay ahead. Another detachment of men—Kierney and Cassani men!—arrayed to face the approaching Army of Gwynedd. Waiting to rejoin their allies._

_ A grim headless army, impaled on stakes by Wencit of Torenth, placed there to strike terror into the hearts of the men of Gwynedd._

"Jesú!" I reached for my drink as soon as I'd pulled out of the link, downing half of the goblet in one large gulp. "Tha's one o' th' _easy_ bits?"

"Yes. Delightful fellow, Wencit of Torenth. Need a few moments before I show you more?"

I took a deep breath, steeling myself. "No. Let's continue."

_They took down the bodies of their desecrated dead, lighting funeral pyres for their fallen, although there was scant time for much more ceremony at the moment. Wencit's army awaited, and Wencit must be made to pay for his crimes. Their nameless, faceless men of Cassan cared for—Duncan's own people!—the Army of Gwynedd pressed on until it was time to set up camp, resting from the day's horrors by dreaming about them anew._

_ But the next day would bring new horrors._

_ Wencit's army was encountered, finally, awaiting Kelson's advance with a special welcome. _

_ The dawn had broken, revealing a line of poles set into the ground along the leading edge of the enemy encampment, a macabre fence of sorts. Each pole was topped with a man's head, stark against the sky, assigning identities to the fallen of Cassan..._

Again I wrenched myself from the mind link, swallowing hard against a wave of nausea, unbidden tears welling up in my eyes. "Dear merciful God, Alaric...I'm glad I'm nae seein' a' this through my father's eyes!"

Morgan nodded grimly. "Yes. Those were Duke Jared's men, from Duncan's own household. He would've grown up knowing many of them, but even the ones personally unknown to him died in fealty to his father the Duke and his line. I can't imagine how much more horrific that day must have been for him on a personal level than for all the rest of us…and there was worse yet to come." We sat in silence for a long moment before he quietly prompted, "Shall we go on?"

I took another steadying breath and a few more sips of wine. "Aye."

_ A hostage offered by Wencit to show good faith, and a subsequent parley, though terms could not be agreed upon by both sides. In the end, Gwynedd retained their hostage, and Sean Lord Derry, so close to freedom and yet seemingly doomed never to see it again, remained in the keeping of his captors, riding back unwillingly towards the Torenthi line._

_ And then the other prisoners were brought forth. The remaining survivors of Cassan, including a gray-haired man who stood proudly defiant, his garb proclaiming his Ducal status._

_ The prisoners were marched out to gallows and, before the watching eyes of Kelson's army, hanged like common criminals. Anguish swept through the ranks, and with it, chaos..._

I opened my eyes, once more disengaging from the link. "My grandsire?"

Morgan confirmed this with a nod. I remembered his own relationship with the man, who was like a foster father to him after his own sire's death.

"Bloody 'ell." I downed what was left in my goblet, and poured myself a bit more of the Fianna. At least half of what I poured managed to find its way into the glass, the rest spreading like newly spilled blood over Alaric's exchequer cloth. "Sorry."

"S'all right," Morgan slurred, none too steady himself now. "I'll skip over the next events; you know the essence already. Kelson, Duncan, Arilan and I decided to take Wencit up on his offer to face him and some of his men, including Bran Coris, in Duel Arcane rather than both sides incurring far greater losses of life in battle. And, of course, during that brief breaking of ranks you caught a glimpse of at the tail end of that memory, I managed to get Derry back."

"Thank God for tha'!"

"Yes, though his mind was still under Wencit's control, so that ended up leading to certain complications later. We nearly lost young Brendan; Derry kidnapped the child and brought him to a Transfer Portal to hand him over to Torenth, for Wencit had promised Bran the return of his son in exchange for his loyalty. You can only imagine how distraught Richenda was. And then Derry tried to kill me. That was fun." Morgan emptied the remaining wine into his glass, then walked unsteadily across the room for another bottle, setting it down before me.

"And in the meantime, Cat remained in the dungeons of Cardosa Keep, in the fortress of Esgair Ddu, for Wencit had apparently already decided that a hostage of the House of Llyr was too dangerous to let go. Acknowledging her capture would have complicated things for him immensely, of course. He'd have found himself fighting a war with two kingdoms, not just one. But Kelson had no solid proof she'd been captured at all, just suspicion." Alaric paused, looking grim. "Dhugal, I could just _tell_ you the rest. It might be easier."

I mulled the offer over, sipping slowly from my cup, then shook my head. "Nay. 'Tis no' th' same, hearin' 'bout it or actually _knowin_'. I think I'd rather know, hard as it might be tae face."

"Damn it, in some ways you're just like your father. Stubborn as hell, for all that Duncan usually hides it well." Alaric reached across the table for my hand, clasping it in his strong grip as much to lend his support, I sensed, as to aid in establishing the mental link. He took a deep breath, released it, relaxing into his trance once more as the memories began to flow.

_A crude cell, the only light within supplied by the small patch of sky visible through a barred window. Stone walls, dark with damp, with iron chains affixed to them. Shackled to the end of one such chain lay a limp figure, her matted honey-hued hair streaked with dried blood, half-curled into a self-protective ball on the rough stone floor. She wore no clothing, and what was visible of her in the dim light was covered with bruises, scrapes, and lacerations. _

_ "Sweet Jesú!" moaned a figure from the open doorway. It was Kelson, shock making him look for that brief moment like the boy he truly was rather than the King his surcoat's arms proclaimed him to be, his gray Haldane eyes huge with horror in his pale, strained face as he turned away from the sight before him to look up at Morgan. "Can you help her, Alaric?"_

_ Alaric crossed the small cell, crouching beside the unconscious young woman to check her life signs. "She's in rough shape. She's been drugged, though the merasha's influence is fading. It's probably a mercy she's not conscious enough to feel its full effects, but we need to move her and get her warmed up." Alaric tried another tentative scan, but there was still too much disruption from the merasha in Cat's system for him to do more than a cursory reading. "There may be internal injuries as well, but I can't tell for certain right now. Either way, I'll probably need to draw on some of your energy to do the healing."_

_ Kelson handed his general something—his own cloak, Morgan noted as he shook open the bundle of fabric he held. He nodded, turning back to Cat and covering her still form with the garment. She moaned softly, a quiet sound of pain._

_ Using his Deryni powers, Alaric turned the tumblers of the locked shackle around Cat's ankle, releasing her from its hold, then stood with his unresisting burden. She groaned, this sound louder than her first._

_ "I know. I'm sorry," Alaric had whispered._

_ One of Kelson's squires led the way up narrow stairs to another room where a fire had been hastily lit and a bed prepared. Morgan laid his patient upon the clean sheets as gently as he could manage, risking another quick mental probe to check on her condition. The merasha disruption had subsided to little more than a severe annoyance. He weighed the risks of attempting a healing too soon, while the lingering merasha in her system could conceivably interfere with his own abilities, or waiting too long and possibly losing his patient due to the added delay in tending to her injuries. He chose the former risk._

_ "Kelson, I could use your help with this."_

_ Kelson nodded, sitting behind Morgan and slightly to one side so he could be in physical contact with the healer, and lowered his shields, allowing Morgan to draw from his reserves as needed. As Morgan's healing touch deftly explored the woman's motionless form with clinical detachment yet with compassion, uncovering only one small area at a time as he worked, both out of respect for his patient's modesty and his own need to remain undistracted by her feminine form as he focused on healing her injuries, the outer wounds began to heal, open gashes closing, scratches and scars beginning to fade, dark bruising returning to a more normal color, although the lady's color still retained an unhealthy pallor. As the outer injuries healed, allowing more time for the last of the merasha in Cat's bloodstream to dissipate fully, Morgan took the greater risk of sending his mental touch within, assessing what he found._

_ "Is it bad?" Kelson mind-spoke._

_ "Yes, but not quite as bad as I'd feared it might be. She's been raped, damn Wencit's soul, and she has a cracked rib and a few other, slighter fractures, but there's no internal bleeding or organ damage, and no other sort of injury that I can detect. Physically, that is. As for her mind, that's my next concern, but the brokenness of her body will probably be a far easier fix, so I'll finish tending to that first."_

_ The King nodded. Morgan turned his attention back to his patient, swiftly and skillfully mending each fracture as he came to it, then doing another quick check to ensure he hadn't missed any. Catriona moaned quite suddenly, nearly startling Morgan out of his healing trance, although he resubmerged immediately, checking her mental state again._

_ "The merasha's completely gone from her system, but she probably has a raging headache. I'll just—"_

_ She erupted, throwing Morgan's hand violently away from her forehead as she sat up, swinging a balled fist at him with an outraged half shout, half scream of terror, yet still in just enough control to aim directly for the soft vulnerable area of his neck where windpipe and vital arteries lay, rather than aiming for the hardness of cheekbone or jaw. Kelson leaped forward even as Morgan caught the punch before it could connect. The boy King tried to place a sleep spell on her, but she knocked his hand away, her green eyes blazing as she started to call up a surge of powerful energies from deep within... _

_ "Kyle, stand down!" Kelson ordered sharply. Catriona froze, her mind reacting to the sound of her title spoken by a familiar voice. She brought her gaze to bear on the speaker, a glimmer of recognition finally beginning to dawn in their sea-colored depths. The summoned power flickered and then faded away._

_ "Forgive me, Brother of Gwynedd," she whispered hoarsely, her voice a near croak._

_ Morgan quietly picked up a corner of Kelson's cloak and redraped it over Catriona, keeping his voice low and soothing as he attempted to reassure her. "Easy, my lady. You're safe now. But you've been through a great ordeal and require healing. May I continue tending to your injuries?"_

_ She turned her gaze to the healer. "General Morgan. Is Wencit of Torenth dead?"_

_ "He is, my lady."_

_ "Damn." She lay back onto the mattress, turning her face away from both men. "Aye, do whatever it is you need to do. I won't fight you." Her shields lowered slowly, although she couldn't completely conceal her shudder as he bent to brush gentle fingers against her temples to re-establish his link with her._

_ "Forgive me," Alaric murmured. "I'm well aware of how much courage it must require for you to open your mind to me right now. I'm honored by your trust." With that, he set the simple sleep control that Kelson had sought to establish earlier, and once the lady lay peacefully, blessedly oblivious to his presence in her mind, he plunged more deeply within, taking stock of the damage Wencit had left in his wake._

# # #

_ The beatings had been rough. "Kyle," as Wencit had earlier determined from his reading of Derry's mind that this youth was called, had passed out beneath the blows several times, but each time Wencit had used his power to re-awaken the young scout, making sure he was conscious enough to register the pain before re-starting the avalanche of abuse. Just when he was sure the lad could endure no more, Wencit stopped, smiling. "Enough. I think you'll find it within yourself to be more reasonable now. Shall we both have a rest? Have a little refreshment, and then you can tell me what I need to know."_

_ "Rot in hell, Wencit," The Kyle replied, voice weak with pain and thirst. _

_ "Indubitably," Wencit agreed with a smile, "if there _is_ such a place. But let's put our differences aside for the moment. Here, have some stew and a bit of wine, and then I'll make you a little proposal. There's no reason you should continue fighting me, you know. You could simply join with me instead, tell me what I need to know, and I assure you you'll be amply rewarded for your pains." Wencit glanced down The Kyle's shivering form, noting the darkening bruises beginning to mar his tender flesh. "_All_ of your pains. Come now, don't make this difficult, lad."_

_ "It's a generous offer, but no thank you." Despite the weakness of the prisoner's voice, it still dripped with sarcasm._

_ "Don't be stupid, boy. Drink!" Wencit ordered the latter with a voice of command as much psychic as verbal. The Kyle's hand started to reach for the goblet, but then stopped. The green eyes looked up at the captor warily._

_ Wencit frowned. He circled the prisoner like a shark examining prey, then attempted a mental probe, encountering smooth undamaged shields. "Deryni, are you? As I suspected. No matter; there's a cure for that. Guards!"_

_ The two men who stood slightly behind and on either side of Wencit now moved forward to flank the prisoner, awaiting further orders._

_ "Hold the lad down."_

_ The Kyle struggled to resist, but with a body already weakened and battered, lacked the strength to continue the struggle for long. Eventually the youth lay back, spent, too exhausted to open sleep-deprived eyelids long enough to view Wencit's approach._

_ The wine poured over and into The Kyle's mouth in a sudden torrent. The Deryni gasped, choking on the bitter liquid, but swallowing enough for the drug within it to start taking hold. Mental shields crumbling, she did her best to hang on to what control she could retain, but the fight was for naught. She fell into unconsciousness, and as she was fading into that queasy darkness, her glamour fell away, leaving her fully exposed to her captors in her true form as Catriona, Lady of Llyr._

# # #

_ Wencit, of course, knew not who he was dealing with—yet—but he was determined to find out. Catriona spent another night shackled in her dungeon cell, sleeping off the merasha while her captor pondered how best to use his new discover to his best advantage. He dared not risk a mental probe right now, for he was as susceptible to the merasha's effects as she was. But there were other ways he could draw information from her, and other drugs which, though less effective than merasha, could still have a deleterious effect on a Deryni's shields. She might still be able to put up resistance, but nothing he couldn't force his way through eventually._

_ The next night his guards repeated the process of dosing their captor, this time with a different drug. Wencit arrived shortly thereafter, using a sleep spell to ensure the lady wouldn't come out of the enforced stupor prematurely, and began a close examination of her shields. Sure enough, within a quarter of an hour they had become more permeable, and a short time afterwards he was able to slip past the more weakly shielded portions. Not the more tightly guarded inner shields which guarded her deepest secrets—and whatever she might know of Kelson's—alas, but still, enough of her day-to-day thoughts, and even some of her less deeply protected secrets, to prove useful. Secrets which, given that they had little or nothing to do with her service to her liege, would not have been of the sort she might have thought to place under strictest guard, thinking it unnecessary to do so even in time of war. But secrets nonetheless which might reveal some fear or other hidden vulnerability that would give Wencit the key for how to manage this particularly lovely prize._

_ At long last, sifting carefully through her recent memories, he found it. And he smiled, knowing he had not only found the chink in her armor, he had found a most fitting form of vengeance for the masquerade she had attempted to slip past him with her guise of being a simple man-at-arms. And once she'd been fully broken, then he could set the controls that would make her the agent of her own self-destruction when he was done toying with her. For now that he knew her true identity, he knew she could never be released. Subjugating Gwynedd would be enough hard work without having to add another kingdom's enmity to the list. It was a pity, but at least he'd enjoy toying with the pretty plaything for a short while, and when he tired of that, what matter if what remained of her turned up in some nearby ravine months later? There'd be no trace left of her captivity and torture at his hands; as far as Kelson or the Lord of Llyr would ever know, she'd simply slipped off a mountain trail, or at worst met her end at the rough hands of bandits._

_ Ah, yes. There would be no merasha the next night either, for Wencit wanted what he planned to be most memorable for the young lass, with none of the disruptive effects of merasha to distract her from what he planned to do, or to make his end of the plan more difficult for him to execute safely._

# # #

_ The cell door opened._

_ Catriona looked up, expecting to see one of the guards again, or perhaps Wencit. Instead, the sight of a familiar brown-haired man wearing a cassock made her heart leap within her._

No, it can't be. It must be the drugs, _she thought. _Can't think straight...head still fuzzy..._ Yet the figure turned towards her, blue eyes smiling as he raised a shushing finger to his lips, and finally she allowed herself to believe that her rescue was at hand._

_ "If I unshackle you, do you think you can walk with my assistance? We need to hurry," Father Duncan said. She watched, hope pushing through her dulled senses, as he knelt beside her to release the lock on her ankle chains before glancing back up at her. "How badly are you injured?"_

_ Catriona stood, catching her breath sharply as her cracked rib protested the movement, then wincing in pain as the sudden intake of breath caused renewed pain to shoot through her. She took a few more careful, shallower breaths, trying to collect her senses. "I'll live. But how..." She stared at the priest, confused. "How are you here?"_

_ "Secret passages. I'll explain later. Come, we'd better get out of here before the change of guard."_

_ Catriona allowed Duncan to put one of her arms around his neck, then encircle her waist with one of his to help support her as she took a few tottering steps. She moaned slightly at the pain, and he whispered, "Sorry; I'll see if I can do something about that once we're someplace more secure. I'd carry you, but I need to leave my sword arm free if I can."_

_ She nodded, accepting the logic, but as they slipped down the dungeon corridor and past the unconscious guard, Cat stopped short and whispered, "Derry!" Duncan simply nodded. "We know. Morgan's taking care of Derry. Derry's his liegeman, you know." Confident that her fellow scout was not being left behind to Wencit's tender mercies, Cat followed Duncan's lead gratefully. He led her up steep stairs and down a quiet hallway, carefully listening at each corner before venturing around it. Her senses were still too drug-muffled for her to tell if he was checking for danger with his Deryni senses as well, but she assumed he was._

_ He stopped at a door, listening intently for several seconds before using his powers to turn the tumblers in the lock. The door opened to a small, comfortably furnished chamber with a fire burning in the hearth._

_ "Duncan, what are we—?"_

_ The priest silenced her again, blue eyes solemn, and guided her into the chamber, bolting the wooden door closed behind him. "You can't go far with those injuries, my lady. I'll need to heal at least the worst of them before we go on. Don't worry, though. I've barred the door, and the secret passage is just beyond that paneled wall"—here he nodded at the wall opposite the entrance—"so even if we should be discovered here, we can slip away before Wencit's men can gain entry."_

_ Her head was spinning now, as if she had drunk too much Fianna on an empty stomach, and she realized he was right. She sat, her hands encountering the soft feel of silk beneath her fingers, and belatedly realized she was sitting on a bed._

_ "Where do you hurt?" Duncan was asking._

_ She stared up at him, trying to process the question for a moment, then said "Everywhere." _

_ He smiled, blue eyes compassionate. "I can help with that now, if you'll allow me, my lady." He averted his eyes, looking slightly uncomfortable. "But I'll need direct access to the injuries for the healing to work. Perhaps if you covered yourself with the bedsheet...I don't actually need to _see_ the injuries, I just need to be able to touch the flesh over them so I can visualize them in my mind..." He flushed slightly, looking rather endearing, Cat thought, in his obvious discomfort._

_ Catriona realized what he was asking, thought to herself that disrobing for Father Duncan would be all right under these circumstances. She trusted this man, knew his intent was pure, and besides, he'd seen her changing clothing before. Granted, she'd been wearing Kyle's form at the time. She tried to summon up the illusion of Kyle of Shiele, thinking to ease the awkward situation, but there was still too much of Wencit's drug in her system, hampering her ability to focus, much less summon up the necessary energy to work the spell. She glanced back up. Duncan had his back to her, allowing her time to ready herself for his ministering touch._

_ She slipped out of her tattered tunic and breeches, sliding between the cool sheets, moaning slightly as they touched her battered and lacerated flesh. "I'm ready," she said once she'd pulled the upper sheet up around her shoulders._

_ The Deryni healer turned to face her, walked to the side of the bed and sat carefully on the edge looking down at her. A gentle hand took hers in its clasp, his other hand tracing up her arm, spreading warmth up it and, after a moment, pain relief. She looked up at him, startled, and then back at her arm. It felt whole, and the bruising that had been quite noticeable earlier appeared to have faded completely._

_ She closed her eyes with a quiet laugh of relief. "So wonderful! My ribs next?" She pointed out the source of the sharp pain, and he nodded, slipping a hand beneath the sheet between them to explore her side. Warmth spread along her entire torso, and she could breathe freely again. Tears sprang to her eyes._

_ "I'm sorry; did I hurt you?"_

_ "Nay...on the contrary, I feel better than I have for..." She tried to think how long she'd been in Wencit's captivity. "Quite some time."_

_ He smiled, his hand moving on, the back of it brushing up against her breast, causing her to catch her breath slightly, although he seemed oblivious, focused on his work. She felt her cheeks flush, looked away from him quickly, hoping she had enough of her shields left intact that he wouldn't pick up on the sudden rush of pleasure that had flooded her at that moment, yet fearing that they were too weak to hide her feelings from him completely. If he'd noticed, though, he acted as if he hadn't, simply continuing his careful exploration, spreading warmth and loss of pain as his hands passed over her form._

_ It became harder for her to ignore how good his gentle touch felt for reasons far beyond mere pain relief. She closed her eyes, willing her body not to betray her attraction to this man wielding his powers for her benefit. She'd tried to be careful, in their slowly budding friendship, not to reveal that she'd begun to have feelings for him that were more than sisterly. She hoped he'd not read her thoughts now, mortified at what he might discover, yet even if he did, a part of her knew that he'd not blame her for the feelings she was experiencing. He knew something of her struggles, as she knew of his, with balancing natural human desires with the demands of a priestly vocation. He would be understanding, she felt sure, yet it would be awkward just the same._

_ The hands moved back up to rest upon Catriona's shoulders, kneading slightly. Her eyes opened. The beloved blue eyes smiled down at her. "Better now?"_

_ She held the sheet against her chest and sat up slightly, looking down at her bare arms, bruise-free, and nodded. "Much."_

_ "Good." He moved one hand to brush a lock of hair back from her temple, cupping her cheek lightly afterwards in what felt almost like a caress. "Very good." He allowed the hand to fall away, his fingertips trailing down the soft skin of her neck as it did, his eyes following their motion. She swallowed._

_ "Duncan...we ought to go now."_

_ "Aye. We ought to." Still, he made no move to stand, nor did he look away from her. Dimly, she sensed something was amiss, but her fog-shrouded mind couldn't figure out what._

_ "Catriona, my dear sister of Shiele, have you ever wondered...?"_

_ She wondered why he was suddenly so close, wondered what his question was, when she felt his lips upon hers, tender at first but swiftly growing more demanding. Her mind reeled, not simply from the drug, and then she suddenly understood why what had felt so heavenly for a brief moment or two was terribly wrong. Her hand tried to push him back. "Duncan, wait, we can't!"_

_ He pulled back, the smile playing at his lips and eyes faintly mocking, and suddenly she knew._

_ "No!" It came out as a horrified whisper._

_ "I'm afraid so, my darling." Wencit, for it was he, grinned, his fox-like features somehow showing through briefly under his illusion. "What is that old adage again? Something like 'What's good for the goose is good for the gander'?"_

_ She shrank back from him, trying to call up her powers, but it was no use; her focus was still too shattered, her mental disruption too strong. But she was physically healed now; she could fight him in more conventional ways. _

_ He simply laughed as her intention became apparent to him, twisting her arm slightly. She nearly cried out at the pain._

_ "Oh, did you honestly think I'd healed you, my sweet? No, I'm afraid I don't possess the good Father Duncan's talents in that regard. All I did was mask the pain and shroud you with the illusion of wholeness for a short while...but it _can_ return just as quickly, if I will it to. Or once the spell wears off."_

_ For the first time, true fear and despair threatened to overwhelm Cat. Tears sprang to her eyes despite her best efforts to stop them._

_ "Wencit...please..."_

_ Duncan's face loomed over her, one eyebrow raised. "You could stop this, you know. All you need do is answer my questions."_

_ She was tempted. It would be so easy to give in, so easy to make the torment stop. If she told Wencit what he wished to know, he might leave her be, might put off this obscene mask of her beloved's features and form, might not defile her every thought and cherished memory of Duncan with his vile touch..._

_ And then Kelson's face flashed through her mind—so very young, with so much of a burden to bear on his slender shoulders. If she betrayed him, Wencit would have the upper hand. Kelson had great strength for one so young, such potential, but Wencit was far more experienced._

_ A tear slipped down one pale cheek. "I will not."_

_ She closed her eyes, but it was of no use. Wencit, pouncing like the greedy fox he was, was suddenly within her mind, setting controls deep within to prevent her from struggling or crying out even as he forced her to watch, with her inner senses if not her physical ones, every degrading moment he inflicted upon her during his diabolical parody of the marriage sacrament she knew she could never share with the man whose image he had stolen from her mind._

Suddenly I found myself out of the link, wondering for a brief moment why I felt more sober than I ought to under the circumstances. The smell of bile brought my attention back to my surroundings. My gaze landed on a pool of vomit, dripping off the edge of Morgan's table almost onto my lap. I jerked backwards in my chair, stumbling to my feet.

Morgan, in not much better condition, looked blearily up at me. "Well, hell... _That_ wasn't quite what I'd intended when I plied you with my best wine." He blinked away the lingering remnants of our shared vision. "Sorry, Dhugal. Will you be all right?"

"In a bit." I looked at my host, feeling numb. "Tell me th' bastard died painfully."

"Quite. Though in retrospect, now that I've just relived that scene, maybe not painfully enough."

I stood, walked across the room to gaze out the window, northwards in the general direction of the Rheljan Mountains and Cardosa. Morgan rose too, came to stand behind me, laying one hand on my shoulder.

"Why does she do it, Morgan?" I whispered hoarsely. "Why take such risks, even after Cardosa? Barely a year later, wasnae she already in Meara, actin' as 'Kyle' again, scoutin' for Kelson in the service of a kingdom tha's no' even her own? I can understand why she's gone off tae study th' Servants of Saint Camber. I dinna have a priestly vocation, but tha's somethin' I can at least wrap my mind around."

There was a long silence, then Morgan squeezed my shoulder. "I don't know that I have the full answer to that. But this might help a little." He sent a questing tendril of thought towards me. I hesitated briefly, unsure if I could handle any more shared knowledge at the moment, but my need to understand won out, and I lowered my shields to Morgan once more.

_The Lady of Llyr opened her eyes to find herself in a comfortably appointed pavilion, Alaric Morgan sitting at the foot of her bed. Beyond a fabric partition, she saw three figures—one, a lovely woman in garb befitting a woman of noble station, with striking red-gold hair, her attention focused on a sleeping child who looked to be her own. Beside this woman, another in religious habit sat mending garments._

_ "Where am I?" Catriona whispered to Morgan._

_ "In the Gwynedd encampment, in Countess Richenda's pavilion. The Countess is—" He stopped himself before saying "The Earl of Marley's widow," not wishing to call up any bad memories his patient might have of Bran Coris, who had died a traitor to Gwynedd, having turned his loyalties to Wencit in hopes of greater glory. "Archbishop Cardiel's niece," he finished smoothly instead. "We thought their pavilion would be a more suitable lodging for a lady than any other we could offer for the moment, in the midst of a battle encampment, unless you're feeling strong enough to take up your guise as Kyle again. Though I don't recommend you do so until you're better rested and recovered, if at all. The other woman who shares these quarters is Sister Luke."_

_ Catriona simply nodded and turned to face her other visitor. Kelson sat beside the resting priest of Shiele, holding her hand in his. "I'm so sorry, my Lady. I should never have sent you into such peril."_

_ She turned her head slightly on the pillow to look at the young King more directly. "On the contrary, Kelson, you did what you needed to do to secure your Kingdom." She squeezed his hand gently. "Throughout your reign, you will need to make difficult decisions, order your subjects into danger, even into battle. And when you do, some will suffer and even die for you. That is the heavy burden you must bear as a King. If you would ease that burden as much as it _can_ be eased, reign in such a way as to always make those sacrifices worthwhile." She smiled. "You will know if you are doing so, if those who endure danger for your sake do so out of love for you and your Kingdom, and not simply because of fear or begrudged duty to your royal command."_

_ Kelson nodded reluctantly. "But why need The Kyle of Shiele serve the Crown of Gwynedd at all? Even for the lands you hold within my realm, you owe me no such service. Catriona—" _

_ "My brother of Gwynedd, for the first time in centuries, with your support, there is hope for Deryni to live in peace with humankind within our lifetime, not only outside Gwynedd's borders but within them as well. To live unhunted, unhindered, free to pursue whatever vocations we choose, or those which choose us. Free to live openly as Deryni, to be ourselves, to learn of our heritage with joy and not with fear and loathing. How can the House of Llyr _not_ stand beside you in that goal, my brother? Even among our own people, there are those from your lands who live in exile and who long to return to their rightful realm and liegelord someday. You are King of _all _Gwynedd, Kelson, Deryni included, and not merely King of those of Gwyneddan blood who still hide within your borders, working quietly towards the day when they may be free to live equally in all things with the rest of your subjects. When you establish a lasting peace between humankind and Deryni—and it is my belief that you someday will—I believe you will find that at least some of those subjects you believed lost forever due to the Deryni diaspora from Gwynedd will wish to return._

_ "What I do for Gwynedd, I do for my people. My _Deryni_ people. And if I do it also for the sake of the Haldane King, it is because _this_ Haldane King has it within his grasp to do what no other has been able to do in two centuries—_truly_ unite his own kingdom, to the benefit of all others. That will be your legacy to your heirs and to your Kingdom. In serving your cause, it will also become my legacy to mine."_

_ Tears stood in Kelson's eyes. "Then I hope I may live up to all you envision, my sister of Llyr."_

_ She brought Kelson's hand to her lips, laying a gentle kiss on his ring of state. "And so do I."_

_ Kelson rose from his chair. "You should rest now." He turned towards the door, glancing at Morgan, but his general whispered, "I need to have a brief moment with The Lady first, if I may."_

_ The King nodded. "As long as Cat is up to it." He stepped past the partition, nodding in acknowledgement to Richenda's and Sister Luke's swift curtseys as he left._

_ Morgan moved to sit in the chair Kelson had vacated. "I may owe you an apology, my lady, or at the very least, I need to express my sincere regret."_

_ "Why would you need to apologize to me, General Morgan?"_

_ He snorted. "Just Alaric. I'm not speaking as one of Kelson's generals; I'm speaking as your healer." He steepled his fingers, touching them to his lips with a thoughtful frown. "I needed to go into your mind, my lady. We had to be sure Wencit hadn't set the same sort of controls in you that he had on Derry."_

_ Cat nodded. "I certainly hope you sifted me most thoroughly, then. No need to apologize for that."_

_ Morgan flushed. "Well...no, it's not that. I also needed to find out exactly what happened while you were imprisoned in Esgair Ddu."_

_ A silence. Then a resigned, "Aye."_

_ "Shall I block those memories for you? It would be easy enough for me to do—I nearly did so earlier while I was still linked with you—but I didn't want to take that choice away from you as well, and you weren't awake to ask."_

_ An even longer silence while Catriona considered all of the ramifications of that choice. At last she shook her head. _

_ "No. As much as I'd love to forget all, I may have need to remember at least some of what happened. But if you would simply dull the memories, so I can retain the knowledge without having to relive the feelings, and..." Her voice faltered. "Relief from the nightmares would also be a blessing."_

_ "I'll do my best, my lady." He started to reach a hand towards her temple, but paused. "May I?"_

_ She smiled wryly. "I won't break if you touch me, Alaric. I'm not _that_ fragile."_

_ Morgan nodded, then lay his hands gently against both her temples, closing his eyes. She lowered her shields to him, allowing his mind-touch to soothe the painful memories. As he did, she relaxed more fully, her muscles beginning to release tension she hadn't even realized her body had still stored._

_"Thank you, Alaric," she said once he was done. She reached a hand up, surprising him by laying it gently on his cheek. "Are you so troubled simply because Wencit was a brutal bastard, or is it because you've seen the means he chose to use in his attempt to break me?"_

_ He averted his gaze from hers, his face flushed. "Both. I had to sift through those memories, but in doing so, I felt as if I were somehow re-violating you in the process."_

_ "Then would it help if I tell you I absolve you? Alaric..." Catriona looked around the pavilion, her eyes lighting on Sister Luke's shrine behind the healer. "Do you see Our Lord on yon crucifix?"_

_ Morgan turned to follow her gaze. "Yes."_

_ "There he hangs, clean and decently garbed in a breech clout, with only a few discreet scars to show what He endured for us. Do you think He _really_ looked like that at Golgotha? I think not, Your Grace. I think we find it comforting to depict him so, to pretty Him up and allow Him his modesty in well-meant deference and respect. But He endured beatings, nakedness and humiliation at the hands of His captors too."_

_ She squeezed Morgan's hand. "_That_ is the King above all Kings to whom my ultimate loyalty lies, Alaric. I can't save the world. That's a far bigger task than I've been given to do, and fortunately He's already taken that one on Himself. But I figure, if He endured all of those things for me, then I can endure them also in His service. And really, Alaric, the shame was never mine; it was Wencit's. So there's naught that he's done to me that I am too ashamed to have you know about, though I do regret you saw those things, for your sake." She swallowed. "Does Father Duncan know yet?"_

_ "Not yet. He's lost The Duke his father and a good many of his liegemen; I thought that was enough grief for him to deal with for one day. I needn't tell him at all, if you'd rather I not."_

_ She considered Morgan's offer. "I'd not have you lie to your cousin, if he should ask. But it's possible if he doesn't learn what happened from you, he'd learn of it some other way, or at least suspect. I'd rather, if it comes to that, that he hears of it from you, but I trust you to know if it would be more helpful or hurtful to him for you to share that knowledge, and not to burden him unduly." She stifled a yawn._

_ "Shall I consider that my cue to leave, my lady?"_

_ "It's been a long...month, I think." She smiled. "I'm looking forward to a dreamless sleep in a comfortable bed, even if it _is_ just a cot in a battlefield pavilion."_

I pondered all that Morgan had shared with me. "_Does_ my father know?" I finally asked him.

He shrugged. "I never told him, and he's never asked me about it outright, but yes, I believe he knows at least in part, though I don't know how. Maybe Catriona eventually shared something of it with him, or maybe Derry let something slip, if he knew. They weren't kept in the same cell, but who knows what Wencit might have told him?"

I looked back over my shoulder. "Sorry about th' tablecloth."

"It'll wash. But next time we share a drink together, _you're_ buying the Fianna." He patted my back. "Come on, lad. It's getting late, and we have an early morn tomorrow. I'll have Randolph show you to your quarters."


	5. Interlude II

**Interlude**

The Year of Our Lord 1127

Ratharkin, Summer

The summer was hot in Meara, although not nearly as sweltering this year as it was during the weeks of our Mearan campaign just three years previous, nor was it as hot here in Ratharkin as it was in Rhemuth to the southeast. The mountain breezes were a relief, and I looked to travel even farther northwards from here to my lands in Transha, Kierney and Cassan once my duties as Lord Lieutenant of Meara had been tended to, to do my duty to those lands as well before heading back to Rhemuth in the fall, before the winter snows could make travel difficult. I was, after all, required to be back in time for Christmas Court, though I hoped to be back sooner.

There was, of course, one duty to my lands that would have to wait. Compared to the prospect of shopping for a suitable ducal bride, the mountains of Mearan documents piled up awaiting my attention seemed far less onerous. In that, I could truly empathize with Kelson; unlike him, at least, I hadn't had the portraits of every eligible young maiden in the Eleven Kingdoms pushed across the desk at me yet. No, their mamas were all still angling for a King for their daughters, buying me precious respite from having to choose from Kelson's leavings once he finally got around to picking a suitable royal brood-mare from the lot.

Not that I was feeling at all hopeless and bitter about the whole wedding-and-bedding scene or anything.

I sighed, walking away from my desk to look out a window towards Gwynedd, in the vague general direction of where the one woman my heart truly wanted was following her heart's calling, having most likely forgotten all about me in the two years since I'd last seen her. Either that, or doing her best to forget me, which was possibly even worse.

I looked out across the distant hills, remember that fateful summer two years earlier when I had learned that Kelson's man-at-arms 'Kyle of Sheele' was far more than I'd ever imagined him to be...

_Dhugal stumbled into the Gwyneddan battle camp with his gillie Ciard and the Earl of Jenas, bearing the gravely injured Bishop Duncan McLain on a makeshift litter. The young Deryni border lord cast his glance around the soldiers milling around, seeking out one man in particular._

_ A young man-at-arms rounded a corner, barely managing to stop in time to avoid bumping into the litter bearing the wounded bishop. He glanced at the man only briefly, sparing a quick glance upward at Dhugal, murmuring "Pardon me" as he started to side-step the men and continue his errand, but something caught his eye, made him take a second glance at the bloody casualty on the litter._

_ A sharp intake of breath, then "Oh, merciful God!" Anguish in the man-at-arms' voice._

_ Dhugal temporarily gave up his visual scan for the man he sought. Instead, he motioned to the other two men to lower their burden; this would be as good a place as any to set up a makeshift infirmary for the healing that must be done—if he could only find Duke Alaric! _

_ A hand landed on his shoulder. Dhugal looked back up, found himself looking into the clear green eyes of the one he knew only as Kyle of Sheele. Kyle looked deathly pale beneath his light tan as his eyes flickered briefly to the fallen bishop's unconscious form, then back up to Dhugal again._

_ "I'll fetch Morgan for you. I was on my way to find him anyway. We'll be back with help."_

_ Kyle ran for the Royal pavilion, making his way back just over a minute later with the Duke of Corwyn in tow, both men followed by a small group of men-at-arms loaded up with supplies. Kyle immediately began supervising the men in setting up shelter around Duncan, while Morgan went straight to Dhugal._

_ "How is he?" Morgan asked, scanning the injuries even as he listened to Dhugal's reply._

_ "Not good. Some of the wounds are pretty superficial, but he's losing a lot of blood from the ones that aren't. We need to get that stopped immediately, but Morgan—" Dhugal raised a warning hand as the Deryni healer started to reach for his cousin. "He's got merasha in his system, so be very careful."_

_ "Damn!" Morgan took a deep breath. "I'm not surprised, but still, that complicates matters a great deal. I know you've got training as a battle-surgeon, but too much contact with Duncan's blood would affect you just as badly as it could me. Kyle!"_

_ The younger man left the job of pavilion set-up to the other men-at-arms and came forward to attend to Morgan. "Your Grace?"_

_ "We need at least one battle-surgeon. A _human_ battle-surgeon," the Deryni duke added in a voice too low for the other men-at-arms to hear. "And Kelson should be notified."_

_ Kyle nodded. "I'll find them." He sprinted off. _

_ While they waited, Dhugal and Morgan carefully assessed Duncan's wounds, carefully avoiding as much contact with his blood as possible. Thus restricted, they had to limit much of their healing to giving careful instructions to the other men. The arrow in Duncan's shoulder caused them the greatest concern. Ciard had carefully broken the shaft off close to Duncan's body in order to make it less likely the arrow would be bumped and jarred too badly while they were moving him back to camp, but the point was lodged deeply in Duncan's body, and there was some worry that it might have at least grazed a lung. _

_ "That's nae good," Dhugal murmured to Morgan. "It's bleedin' bad as it is, but once we gae dickin' 'round wi' it, it's gonna get much worse, an' wi' merasha in him, I dinnae s'pose ye can be stickin' yer finger in there tae heal it, can ye?"_

_ "I'd really rather not chance it, but I'll have to at least try if there's no other option."_

_ "There's another option, Your Grace," offered Ciard. "It's nae at all pleasant, but it's a damn sight better'n dyin'. We could try cauterizin' it."_

_ Dhugal winced slightly, but nodded. "In his weak condition, he'll probably still need us tae lend 'im our strength, but it's probably safer all 'round than trying tae heal th' bleedin' yourself before th' merasha's left his system." _

_ Morgan's lips tightened, but he nodded in grim agreement. "Ciard, go heat the cautery iron."_

_ As Dhugal's gillie turned to leave, a shadow at the tent entrance made Dhugal look up. Kyle entered, two men in tow. "Archbishop Cardiel and his chaplain, Father Lael. Lael's also a battle-surgeon," the man-at-arms said without preamble. "I'm off to find the King." He ducked back out of the tent, but returned almost immediately. "Never mind; he's on his way over." Kyle stepped out of the entrance, crouching down beside Duncan to inspect his wounds for himself as Kelson came barreling through the open tent flap, nearly passing out the moment he arrived. Dhugal shot him a concerned look, but a moan from Duncan drew his attention back to his father, and once Dhugal looked back up towards the King again, his brief spell seemed to have passed._

_ Kyle, his eyes blazing in a taut face, extended a slim hand towards the bishop, recoiling almost instantly after touching his limp hand. "Merasha?" the man-at-arms questioned with a sharp look in Morgan's direction. At Morgan's curt nod, the younger man closed his eyes, muttering a blistering curse. To Dhugal's astonishment, it was in a tongue not too unlike his own Border speech, although it was different enough to make translation uncertain. Still, Dhugal was reasonably certain the young man had just made a rather scathing comment regarding Archbishop Loris' dubious parentage, with some anatomically improbable suggestion as to what the Deryni-hating Archbishop might do to himself thrown in for good measure._

_ Dhugal and Lael coordinated their treatment of the most serious injury—the arrow in the shoulder—together. In one swift move, Lael drew the arrow out of the wound, which immediately began to pump bright red. With a curse, the battle-surgeon clamped a compress over the gushing wound, putting all of his weight on it as he called out for Ciard and the hot iron the gillie was readying. Kyle lunged forward, attempting to help staunch the flow, but was yanked back by Morgan, who next shoved Lael out of the way, attempting to staunch the flow himself using his Deryni healing power. _

_ "Alaric, no!" He and several of the other men now tried to pull Alaric away from Duncan, their efforts unsuccessful until Father Lael reminded Morgan sharply that Duncan was even more likely to die of shock from his injuries if Morgan became too impaired from the merasha in Duncan's system to help with that as well._

_ Kyle called for a wash basin, nudging a squire into action to retrieve the vessel for Morgan, then leaned back into the action, clasping a gentle hand around one of the few unbloodied areas on Duncan's wrist as he closed his eyes, lending his energies to help keep Duncan's vital signs from slipping. Dhugal noted the effort appreciatively, although he was too busy holding Duncan's body down with his own in readiness for the pain he knew would follow momentarily, when Ciard brought the hot iron down to cauterize Duncan's shoulder. The iron descended, and Duncan's body bucked. Kelson, also in link with Duncan at that moment, screamed in shared agony. Kyle broke out in a cold sweat, murmuring what Dhugal thought sounded like a prayer in the same odd tongue he'd spoken in earlier, before passing out briefly._

_ Kelson, also succumbing to the heat of the day, the shock of the shared link, and the merasha disruption, was dragged away by Ciard, retching as soon as he was safely away from Duncan and then mercifully passing out. But by now, the worst of the immediate danger to Duncan had passed. Kyle stirred, looking around the tent and quickly assessing the situation. As the healers continued to work over Duncan, he stood, checking briefly on Kelson, and then setting up a curtain between the King and the wounded bishop at Cardiel's request, leaving the heat-stricken King in the archbishop's care before returning to help tend to the bishop's graver injuries._

_ There was little left that could be done before the merasha faded from Duncan's system, but what could be done for him, the men did, Dhugal sponging clean the many lacerations covering Duncan's mostly nude body as Kyle assisted, anointing the reddened skin with burn salve and occasionally risking the lightest of rapports with Duncan in order to lend pain relief, though the effort obviously cost Kyle a great deal whenever he did so. Morgan, seeing the original crisis was over, briefly excused himself._

_ "We're going to need to rest once we've cleaned up the worst of this," Kyle told Dhugal. "Morgan's going to need us to be back at full strength in the morning so we can try a more complete healing once Bishop Duncan's body is clear of the merasha." _

_ Dhugal nodded tiredly. "Aye." He studied the man-at-arms curiously, then quirked a wry smile at him. "Ye might hae fookin' well told me ye were Deryni earlier! I could hae used yer help sooner, when I was ridin' out tae rescue my father. It might hae helped tae know I was merely ridin' intae _near_ certain death, instead o' _absolute_ certain death!" _

_ The green eyes glanced down at Duncan, then back up at Duncan's son with the faintest of smiles. "I try not to let that be common knowledge. It's not exactly good for one's health around here." His tired head drooped briefly, the tawny hair almost brushing Duncan's as the younger man bent over him almost as if to bestow a kiss on the bishop's forehead, but then the man-at-arms took a deep breath and straightened as Morgan re-entered the tent._

_ "I have bread, cheese, fruit, and some cool water," Morgan said, setting a platter down before them. "Best eat up, and then rest as we can until morning. We'll take turns staying up with Duncan to keep an eye on him, just in case he takes an unexpected turn for the worse, but I think the worst has passed. Kyle..." Morgan's steel gray eyes gave Dhugal an assessing glance, then turned back to the man-at-arms. "You might as well show Dhugal your secret. It will save precious energy if you're not having to waste any in keeping your illusion up."_

_ Kyle raised a brow. "_I _have no objection, but my brother of Gwynedd may."_

_ I glanced at him, startled, wondering who this man was who addressed my King as an equal. _

_ "If he does, I'll accept full responsibility. But I don't imagine he will, under the circumstances."_

_ Kyle sighed tiredly, then changed before my eyes into a woman who, despite my father's blood staining her battle-worn garments and the exhaustion straining her features, was a surprisingly lovely lass. "I must admit, being myself for once will be quite a relief," she said with a soft laugh._

_ "My Lady of Llyr, you've already met Earl Dhugal MacArdry McLain, Duncan's son. Dhugal, this is Catriona, the Kyle of Shiele and High Lady of Llyr."_

_ She turned clear appraising eyes towards me. "And so we are matched, secret for secret, although your secret is even now flying through the camp on winds of rumor, whereas mine must remain between us a while longer. But I have been aware of you for some months now, although I doubt your father has been free to speak much about me, if at all."_

_ "Catriona?" The voice was weak, befuddled, but my heart leapt as I recognized my father's voice. _

_ "Aye." She brushed sweat-soaked hair off my father's brow, leaning forward so he could see her face bending over his. "Sleep,_ a chara_. You've had a very hard day." She looked up at Morgan. "His fever has broken, but he's still under the merasha's influence, albeit not as strongly as before. Shall I risk a sleep spell?"_

_ "Need...to get up..."_

_ "Nay, Duncan, you'll lie still and rest if I have to lie atop you to hold you down. I'd rather not do so; you were quite the pincushion earlier."_

_ A faint smile. "Hurts...all over...but that still sounds appealing." The eyes fluttered shut again as if the effort to say those few words had utterly exhausted him._

_ Morgan chuckled at Catriona's swift blush. "He may not be as drugged as he was earlier, but he's definitely still under the influence."_

_ "My son..." Duncan whispered._

_ "Aye, I'm here," I answered him._

_ "Damn good rescue." He chuckled softly. "Next time, try to get there a little sooner." He tried to turn his head in the direction of my voice, but the effort made him wince, and he stopped._

_ "If there _is_ a next time, _I'll_ sit on you!" Morgan growled. "You scared the hell out of all of us today."_

_ "Good. Always thought...you could use...bit more hell scared out of you, Alaric."_

_ The Lady of Llyr gave me a wry grin. "Well, I think it's safe to say if he's feeling strong enough to start cracking jokes, we can probably grab a few hours of sleep now. Why don't you and Morgan go ahead, since I suspect you're both more spent than I am, and I'll wake one of you in a few hours." She glanced at Morgan. "Shall we let you sleep the longest, since you'll be needing your full energies for tomorrow's healing?"_

_ He nodded, yawning. "Sounds good to me. Dhugal?"_

_ I assented, curling up at my father's side, my eyes drifting shut almost on their own volition after a few moments. Sleep overtook me shortly thereafter._

_ I woke briefly only once before it was my turn to keep watch. When I did, I saw Catriona of Llyr, her golden-brown hair gleaming in the dim candlelight, keeping silent vigil over my father, her lips occasionally moving in what might have been a silent prayer, tears slipping slowly down her cheeks. When she had finished, her eyes opened, their ocean depths reflecting mingled joy and pain as she bent tenderly to kiss my father's brow._

_ As she straightened, he opened his eyes, catching her gaze with his own steady blue regard as, slowly, he reached out one battered, nailless hand to gently cup her cheek, wiping the tear away with his thumb before lightly stroking it across her lips. "Catriona, my heart, I need some water."_

_ Surprised wonder sprang into her eyes at his loving words and touch, chased away almost immediately with a look of concern as she glanced quickly over towards where Morgan lay, until the rhythmic rise and fall of his breathing assured her he still slept. She stood to pour a cup of water, returning immediately to kneel once more by Duncan's side, carefully lifting his head to coax a few mouthfuls past his parched lips and throat, then gently laying him back onto his pillow._

_ "Rest, _a chroi_. You need to get your strength back. And—" She glanced back at the still slumbering Morgan and then turned her head towards where I lay in the shadows behind Duncan, caution in her eyes. "They might not understand."_

_ Duncan's eyes remained closed, but a slight smile tugged at his lips. "Alaric already knows, and Dhugal's a mature enough lad, I'm sure he can understand the difference between simply loving a woman and being free to make love to her. And anyway, he knows he can always come to me with his questions and concerns if he has any." He sighed. "I very nearly died today, Kitten. I'm sure God will understand if I feel the need to actually say the words, just this one time. Even if it's not very beneficial." His eyes flickered open briefly, meeting hers. Her lips quirked slightly as if at some shared joke, and she nodded._

My mind returned from its journey to the past as I stared past the foothills around Ratharkin, looking beyond towards the Mearan border and the lands beyond, where even now Catriona was sojourning with the Servants of St. Camber. I knew, if Kelson's plans came to fruition soon, she would be returning to Rhemuth in the next year, for he had hopes that the Servants would lend their knowledge to the new Deryni Schola he was building.

Before I could ask her to stay in Rhemuth, before I could even think of asking her to consider leaving her life of wandering to start a new life with me, I needed to know for certain where I stood in her life. She had left an empty hole in my heart, but was there room enough in hers to include me in her life, with the draw of her two callings constantly pulling at her?

And, perhaps more to the point, was there enough room in her heart for _me_, despite the love that I knew, even from the very start, that she held for my father and he for her?


	6. Duncan

_Author's note: This is the other "supersized" section of the overall story. As with Morgan's section, if you have trouble reading long passages of text on-screen, please feel free to use your browser's print feature to grab a hard copy of this section. Again, with this being an extended conversation with multiple shared-memory flashbacks, there was really no sensible place to split this section of text up into more standard-length chapters, so I left it at original length. For those of you following my entire story arc, rest assured that this is the only one of my stories that has such "supersized" chapters. Blame my muse! :-)  
_

**Duncan**

The Year of Our Lord 1127

Rhemuth, Christmastide

I sat in my father's apartments in Rhemuth, sitting across from him and sipping from a cup of mulled wine as we enjoyed the warmth of a roaring fire in the hearth.

"I heard from Catriona last fortnight," Duncan said, breaking the companionable silence between us. "She tells me the Servants are already making ready for their planned journey here to Rhemuth next summer." His blue eyes looked up from the depths of the wine cup he was swirling gently. "She sends her regards, Dhugal."

I looked away, not certain if I should find joy or cause for worry in his statement. Only her regards, then? Not her love? As if reading my mind, although we weren't sharing a link at the moment, my father added, "I suspect she's still soul-searching."

I nodded. "Do ye hear from her often?" I asked, trying to sound casual.

He shook his head. "No. That was the first time in nearly three years, in fact. Dhugal..." He sighed. "It wasn't just you she needed to make a clean break from. She will be back, I assure you, and not simply because of Kelson's plans for the Schola. She just needs time to sort out her heart."

"Three bluidy _years_?!"

He raised a brow at me. "Would you rather she'd rushed into marriage with you while still dealing with uncertainties? You might both have had cause to regret that later." He took a sip of his wine, savoring the flavor of it before continuing. "She'll be back. She _does_ love you, son."

"Aye? Well, mayhap she does, but she loves _you_ as well, so where does tha' leave us?"

A quiet sound, almost a chuckle, not of amusement so much as acceptance. "I would imagine that's part of what she's needing time to sort out." He stood, stooping to shake the pan of chestnuts on the hearth so they'd roast evenly before returning to his chair. "Hopefully she'll have worked through it by next summer. I'd love to see you wed soon." He shot me a teasing smile. "I need a grandson."

I stared at my sire incredulously. "So, it doesnae bother ye in th' least tha' I'm wantin' tae bed down wi' th' woman ye love?"

"Well, _I_ certainly can't!" The quick grin faded to a look of concern as he studied me. "Dhugal, I _do_ love the lass very much, but I suspect my feelings for her are very different from yours. For that matter, they're even different from what they were three years ago, or ten. People grow and change—love itself changes over the seasons—and I'll not deny there might have been a time some years ago when that thought might have caused more than a twinge of envy and regret. But I've long since put aside any temptation I might have had to set aside my vocation and wed Cat, and I've never once regretted that choice. Nor will I be anything short of overjoyed if the two of you can find happiness together, for despite your many differences, I think the two of you would be well-suited for each other, and there are no two people I love more. And besides..." He kicked a booted foot at mine with another teasing grin. "_You_ need heirs!"

I rolled my eyes at him with a chuckle as I took another sip of my wine. "Aye, I heard ye the first time. It takes two, though, an' one's no' here." I looked down at my cup, studying the dark liquid within. "The last time I had wine this good, I threw most of it back up all over Morgan's exchequer cloth."

My father laughed. "Yes, he told me about that." The blue eyes sobered, regarding me steadily. "I understand he told you about the battle with Wencit and Cat's imprisonment in Esgair Ddu."

"More than told, aye." I looked away, staring into the fire before us. "You know about that, then?"

"The battle, yes, obviously. What Cat endured?" He sighed. "We've never actually spoken of it outright, nor has anyone shown me, but yes, I have a fair idea." He swirled the wine in his glass with a frown. "Derry's cell had a small window grate in the door. He told me once that on one occasion, Wencit stopped just outside that door, conversing with the guard in a voice too low to hear, and then both moved on in different directions. Several minutes later, Derry heard returning footsteps and looked up, thinking it was either Wencit or the guard returning, but instead he saw me half-carrying Catriona down the corridor. He thought rescue was imminent, but of course it wasn't." He took another sip of his wine before looking up at me. "Obviously, I was never anywhere near Esgair Ddu at the time, nor was I there on any of the subsequent evenings when Derry thought he saw me pass his cell to enter Cat's and lead her upstairs. I'm not so naïve as to think Wencit took on my form to administer the Blessed Sacraments." He closed his eyes, leaning his head back in his chair. "Oh yes, I know, and I assure you, even now I struggle every bit as hard with forgiving Wencit of Torenth as Cat ever has with forgiving Archbishop Loris for the torments he inflicted on me."

I snorted. "I dinnae even try wi' either; saves me th' bother."

"As your confessor, I should kick you in the hindquarters for that, but as your father, I'll let it pass. I'll let Arilan take you to task over it instead. He's good at that."

I chuckled. "Aye, he is, isn't he?" I smiled wryly, studying the toes of my boots for a long moment before asking my father the question that I'd been wondering about for two and a half years, ever since discovering that the man-at-arms I'd occasionally taken up arms beside was actually a lady of royal lineage with feelings for my father that, in a far different way, ran as deeply as my own. "How did you an' Catriona become sae close? Was it jus' simple proximity, from workin' together in Kelson's service, or because ye were both Deryni called tae a priestly vocation? Or was it somethin' different, somethin' more? I cannae imagine love just happens tae blossom over discussions o' theology," I joked.

Duncan laughed. "This is _me_, son. You'd be surprised." The blue eyes twinkled. "Catriona and I have had many a lively and stimulating discussion over matters of doctrine. She has a formidable mind, and as much as I hate to admit it, in some of our areas of disagreement—and there _are_ quite a few, given our differing faith traditions—she's occasionally argued me into corners. But no, you're right, it was far more than that." He leaned forward. "Would you like me to share some of my memories of those earlier days? I can promise you, there's nothing in these memories that should cause you distress, certainly nothing that will cause you to hurl my mulled Fianna all over my furniture…at least I _hope_ not, since I'm rather fond of this carpet!" He smiled. "Just bear in mind that these are the memories of a younger man, with all of a younger man's needs and passions, and I _was_ suspended from the priesthood for a time, unsure if I'd ever be allowed to take my vocation back up again. Despite that, though, nothing ever happened between Catriona and myself that I would hesitate to show my son or any other man intending to wed her."

I raised an eyebrow at him. "That would be more reassuring if it weren't coming from the father who didn't hesitate to show me the consummation that led to my conception."

He had the grace to blush slightly. "Well, _that_ was different. I was trying to reassure you of your legitimacy, and trust me, I didn't share _every_ detail about that night, though looking back, I suppose I still ended up giving you a bit more information than any man really wants to know about his own begetting." He shook his head with a wry smile at himself. "I'll try to show more discretion this time, but if you still think I'm over-sharing, let me know and I'll stop."

"Aye." I extended my hand to my father. He clasped it lightly, closing his eyes as we both lowered our shields to each other, and together we slipped into rapport with one another.

_Father Duncan, free of his priestly duties for the afternoon, left his study in the Basilica, seeking to clear his mind by escaping his archbishop's presence for the next few hours. His new superior, Archbishop Corrigan, had never made any secret of his disdain for the Deryni race, and while Duncan was sure that Corrigan didn't know that the young priest Brion had chosen as his confessor was one of the hated "heretic" Deryni, he also knew that simply being part of the Haldane King's Inner Circle and related to the Deryni Duke of Corwyn, though the archbishop had little notion how truly close that kinship was, had made him somewhat suspect in Corrigan's eyes. Which was unfortunate, given how closely Duncan had to work with his ecclesiastical superior._

_ Duncan's stroll took him to a city gate, and on a whim, he decided to extend his walk to outside the walls of Rhemuth. He continued on, leaving the stone-paved road after a while to continue down a narrow trail leading to a small grove of trees and the sound of running water. The soft murmur of the stream sounded restful, refreshing to the soul._

_ As he approached the running water, a strange sight just ahead caused him to pull up short. He had caught a brief glimpse of—was it an aura of light?__—_just beyond the trees ahead, hard by the water's edge.

_ He approached cautiously, unsure of what he'd seen. It could just have been a trick of the sunlight, flashing off the water or a wet rock, but King Brion had recently received reports that his right to rule over Gwynedd was being challenged once again by a Torenthi pretender, this time Charissa of Tolan, heiress to the Marluk Brion had slain to secure his claim on the throne in the earliest days of his kingship. For that matter, despite the Haldane King's known acceptance of the Deryni among his people—a tolerance far from universally shared in Gwynedd—it was possible some other Deryni might have cause to wish King or Kingdom harm. Duncan knew he ought to ensure this was no new threat to Brion Haldane's reign._

_ Duncan drew closer, and as he did, he beheld something he'd never heard of before, never even imagined possible, but it was unmistakably a Deryni working. It felt benign, from what he was able to sense, but still bore close watching, for he knew not who else might be wielding Deryni powers here in Rhemuth besides Alaric. And this, he knew, was not Alaric._

_ What Duncan had originally perceived as an aura of light turned out to be a ward, although the light had faded almost immediately after the ward's creation. Instead, for the briefest of moments after that bright flash, Duncan had thought he'd perceived a person's form inside the ward—a brief glimpse of bare flesh. Duncan's initial impression was that this form was feminine, which made him hesitate to draw closer at first, although remembrance that this most recent threat to Gwynedd's sovereignty came by way of a woman wielding similar arcane powers overcame his momentary reluctance to investigate further. _

_ Inside the now fog-shrouded dome of warding, it began to rain—at least that was the only thing Duncan could liken this working to—a torrential downpour swirling around the person within like a small stormy vortex. Within the vortex, tiny sparks flew, resembling miniature lightning flashes. Duncan watched, bemused, as this continued for several minutes, and then the watery deluge stopped, being replaced instead to what Duncan perceived as a whirlwind of fog, slowly growing more and more clear until it fully dissipated._

_ As the fog died away, Duncan realized he had been mistaken in his initial impression. No, the figure now standing in the center of the ward was a young man, perhaps only in his second decade of life, for the lad hadn't grown old enough to develop even a faint shadow of a beard yet, although judging by his height he was swiftly approaching full manhood. Certainly would have attained it already in the strictest legal sense, though to Duncan's thinking fourteen was in many ways still very much a boy. The Deryni lad raised his arms over his head, then lowered them to his sides in a quick sweeping motion, palms turned downwards, and as he did so, the ward dome collapsed, briefly turning into a glowing circle in the grass before vanishing completely. His gaze met Duncan's briefly, seemingly unconcerned, then he stooped to pick up a tunic that lay just outside the periphery of the ward circle, toweling off with it briskly before donning the now damp garment along with dry braies, and then picking up the ward cubes he'd used to create the working. Only then did he look back up at Brion's priest._

_ "Hello, Father Duncan." The young man gave Duncan a wry smile. "I see I've been discovered. Thank God it's you who came along, and not Corrigan!" He wrung out his wet hair, slicking it back from his face and hastily tying it into a style similar to a Border braid._

_ Duncan remembered where he'd seen the youth before. "It's Kyle, isn't it?"_

_ "It is." The young man stooped again, this time reaching for a golden torc which he placed around his neck, and a simple circlet and armbands which were his tokens of rank. Duncan wasn't entirely clear on how the royal youth of Llyr had entered Brion's service, but he'd assumed it was a fostering arrangement. They were common enough among the royal houses, at least for younger sons, to broaden their education by exposing them to foreign courts and customs. Fostering also could enhance diplomatic relations between kingdoms, much as marriages arranged for dynastic reasons were meant to do. Certainly there seemed to be a fairly close relationship between the House of Haldane and the High Lord of Shiele. As Duncan now recalled, the current High Lord had also been fostered here in Rhemuth several years earlier, although he'd recently been recalled to Llyr to take up his rightful inheritance._

_ This scion of Llyr, unlike his older brother, had not been placed in Duke Nigel's keeping to be trained as a squire and eventually a knight, but apparently reported directly to King Brion himself, though for reasons Duncan had yet to discover, despite being one of Brion's most trusted advisors. Needless to say, Duncan was rather curious about this unconventional arrangement, but he'd figured if Brion decided he had a need to know about it, then he'd be told. And if not, then chances were that Brion had a good reason for not revealing his reasons to Duncan. He'd had no idea what those reasons might be before now, but if Kyle were Deryni, Duncan suspected at least one reason Brion might have withheld this information from him. _

_ Brion trusted Duncan completely, but other priests of the Church of Gwynedd, far less so. And what Duncan didn't know about, he couldn't very well be forced to reveal to his superiors. No, Brion had probably been right to keep this secret close, Though it was a little galling to discover there was another Deryni here at Court, and Duncan had never even suspected._

_ He wondered if Alaric knew. Doubtless he did; little escaped the King's Champion's notice. Still, he figured it would be advisable to have a word with his cousin later, just to be on the safe side. _

_As Duncan regarded the lad before him, he realized with a sudden start that the lad was studying him back, his lips quirked in a slight smile. "Are we done sizing each other up yet?" the younger man said with a quick laugh, dropping to sit on the dry grass outside the area where he'd worked his magic, looking utterly relaxed in Duncan's presence. "Come, sit. I don't bite. I know you're curious about me, and I'll confess I'm curious about you also. You must be tougher than you look, to have survived a childhood growing up with Alaric Morgan."_

_ Duncan gave a startled laugh. While it wasn't a closely guarded secret that he and Morgan were cousins, most people believed the exact degree of relationship between them to be a lot more distant than it actually was. _

_ There were few things Duncan enjoyed more than unraveling a good mystery, and that being the case, it seemed certain that he would enjoy getting to know young Kyle a bit better._

_ "You can't possibly imagine," Duncan agreed, taking the lad from Llyr up on his invitation and regaling him with a brief tale of one of the Duke of Corwyn's more hare-brained youthful exploits. "So, you know Alaric?" he asked once he was finished._

_ "Not well," the lad allowed, "but I suppose he knows me better than most do here at Rhemuth. I'm still newly come to these parts."_

_ Duncan glanced down at the wet circle of grass behind the Llyrian princeling. "You should be more careful," he cautioned. "That sort of thing could get you burned at the stake, if the wrong man had happened along."_

_ "Aye, I know." The boy sighed. "That's why I'm here. That is…." He grinned, belatedly realizing how odd that must have sounded to Duncan. "I mean, your King hopes to change that someday, and my House hopes to assist him in that task. I'm certainly not here in Gwynedd in hopes of being burned, though. God forfend!" He laughed._

_ Duncan smiled back. "Well, now that I know you're Deryni, and apparently a trained one at that, what _was_ that spell about? I've never seen such a working, despite having grown up with Alaric." He was uncertain if the lad had been told that the King's confessor was also Deryni, so he didn't volunteer that information himself. "It's certainly not an attack, and it didn't appear to be defensive..."_

_ The boy's clear green eyes sparkled mischievously at him. "Nay, it's none of those things. It's about personal hygiene. Surely you can recognize a bath when you see one?"_

_ Duncan chuckled. "Not that sort. In Cassan and Kierney, at least, we used a tub. And I didn't learn any other way to bathe while in seminary either. Certainly not _that_ way."_

# # #

_ "Father, I have a confession of sorts." Kyle's eyes grinned up at the young priest, who thought the lad, whatever he might have to share, wasn't looking particularly penitent. He'd known Kyle of Shiele for several months now, and the two had begun to form a friendship despite the decade of years separating them in age._

_ "I haven't my stole of office with me; you know that," Duncan protested, his blue eyes scanning the crowd of faces below them as they looked down into the city from one of the towers along the city wall. It was one of several places they went when they wished to converse privately, for who knew what ears might be lurking and listening in the Basilica, at least during the day? _

_ "Oh, there's no need; it's not _that_ sort of a confession. Well, that is...I suppose it probably _could_ be, and I suppose it actually _should_ be at some point, but I was really hoping for your thoughts as a man rather than your absolution as a priest, and I'm not particularly worried about sharing my struggles with you outside the seal of the confessional. _Some_ of them, anyway." The green eyes sparkled. _

_ "Now you truly have me curious. What is it?"_

_ "Well, I figure you had to have been a man before you became a priest, even in bass-ackwards Gwynedd..."_

_ "No. I was born tonsured and wearing a cassock." Duncan chuckled at the younger man, who wrinkled his nose back at the priest of Gwynedd. "Why do you ask?"_

_ The lad fingered his golden torc, which Duncan had recently discovered was also engraved with the marks denoting its wearer as a priest of the Church of Shiele, which was in unity with the Church of Gwynedd in all of the essential beliefs of Christendom, so Duncan felt no twinge of conscience in administering the sacraments to his fellow priest, but which differed enough in the less essential doctrines of the Faith that the two churches were no longer in full communion with one another. One of those doctrines, the essentiality or non-essentiality of which was hotly debated by some, had to do with the inherent sinfulness or lack thereof of Deryni birth. Though that was far from the only difference between the two branches of Christ's Body._

_ "Duncan...if you'd been born in Shiele, or if the Church of Gwynedd had ever offered you a choice, would you have chosen to take a vow of celibacy?"_

_ The older priest tilted his head curiously at the younger one, suppressing a smile. "_That's_ your 'confession'? When did this become about me?"_

_ The younger priest laughed. "I'll get to that in a bit. You first."_

_ Duncan's eyes scanned back over the heads of the people passing below, looking a trifle wistful. "I really don't know, Kyle. I never was given any choice, you know. I had a calling, and the vow was an inevitable part of answering that call. In some ways, I suspect certain aspects of being a priest would be easier for me to deal with if I were married, but in other ways, I suspect they'd be much harder." He smiled at Kyle. "_You're_ free to marry, though. Feel free to tell me how well that works in practice once you've been wed for a while."_

_ "Ah, yes. That leads to _my_ problem." Kyle glanced at Duncan briefly, then returned his gaze to the people of Rhemuth weaving their way through the streets below them. "Fortunately my people aren't in too much of a hurry for me to wed—yet—but I know I shall have to someday. For me, at least, there won't be much of an option either...not that I'm exactly yearning to take vows of celibacy," he teased, grinning at Duncan, "but you know what I mean, I think. In my case, I'll have to choose between a marriage for dynastic reasons and a marriage of the heart. And unfortunately, my heart's not being very cooperative."_

_ Duncan laughed softly. "Kyle, you're only seventeen. Time enough to discover your heart's passion later. And anyway, who's to say a marriage of practicality and a marriage of the heart can't be combined? There _are_ such arrangements that end up quite happily, you know. My own parents had such a marriage."_

_ "Yes...well..." The green eyes studied Duncan's face solemnly. "What if I were to tell you that my heart might already be forming an attachment with someone, only..." Kyle's gaze slipped away to study a blade of grass poking up stubbornly through the mortar of the stone city wall they sat upon. He stroked it idly with a finger. "It's someone I can never have. What would your counsel be?" The lad looked back up at Duncan, suppressed pain in his eyes._

_ Duncan's heart went out to the younger priest, but he knew the younger man needed true counsel, no matter how hard it was to hear. "I would advise you not to encourage her affections, if she is not free to wed you or you to wed her, and to do your best to guard your heart around her, even if it means needing to remove yourself from her presence for a time. Does she know of your feelings?"_

_ Kyle looked away again, stoking the lone blade of grass tenderly. "No. I know better than to speak of them openly." He sighed. "I know you're right, Duncan. I was just hoping..." He stared out unseeingly over the crowd below. "Would it be possible for us to continue in friendship, knowing there could be nothing more? Or do you think that would be unwise?"_

_ Duncan pursed his lips thoughtfully, considering the question. "That's harder to say, Kyle. That would certainly be a difficult path to take, but perhaps not entirely impossible. I can't be your conscience in the matter, you know; only you—and she, if she returns your feelings—would be able to say if that would be a workable solution for the two of you. A clean break would be easier."_

_ "Mayhap." The lad gave Duncan a shadow of a grin. "But when have you ever known me to do things the easy way, Duncan?"_

_ Duncan chuckled. His eyes lit on a young woman with pale gold hair, scurrying past them on her way to the center of the city. "You know, it's also possible your feelings will change over time. One never knows ahead of time the odd twists and turns life has to offer. I was married once, when I was couple of years younger than you. That was before I took final vows, of course." He looked at Kyle. "Not even Alaric knows that."_

_ Kyle looked stunned. "You were married?"_

_ Duncan shrugged. "Well, yes, technically so at any rate, though I had hardly an hour to spend with my young bride after our hasty wedding, not really enough that I actually ever got to _feel_ like a married man. The marriage was very brief, only lasting a matter of months. There were similar circumstances—a family feud being the primary impediment, in my case, since I'd already been struggling with the question of celibacy." He gave Kyle a quick smile in acknowledgement of his earlier question. "I chose to deal with the difficulty by rushing into a secret marriage with Maryse. But then I had to leave her early the next morning—there'd barely even been time for us to consummate our vows—and by the time it would have been safer for me to acknowledge the marriage and return for her, I'd received word that she'd died of a fever over the winter. So I returned to seminary, even though my heart was still struggling with God over that loss. I took final vows that following year."_

_ "I'm sorry," Kyle finally managed. "I had no idea."_

_ Duncan nodded, looking wistful. "No one does. Aside from my former confessor, who died shortly afterwards, I never told a soul. Until now, that is."_

_ "I'm honored," Kyle said. "And I'll keep that in confidence as if I were wearing one of your dratted stoles." He sighed. "It's good to know you understand, though." He slanted a look at Duncan. "At least _you_ got to marry your love."_

_ Duncan gave the younger priest a wry smile. "Yes, and that only made my choice to return to my vocation all that much harder, and even now makes my priestly vows more difficult for me to honor. Unlike _you_, my very young and presumably still virgin brother of Shiele, I _know_ full well what I'm missing. Be very careful what you wish for." He patted Kyle's knee, sympathetic yet firm. "And guard your heart."_

# # #

_Duncan and Kyle sat in Duncan's study at the Basilica late in the evening, sitting by the hearth. The older priest took a quaff of ale, savoring the flavor. A smooth, slightly sweet ale, with a hint of nuttiness to it. He offered to pour some for his friend, who shook his head in mock alarm, covering the mouth of his goblet._

_ "Ale, Duncan? God forfend! It's Fianna for me, thank you, or even a less superior wine, if that's all you've got in your cellars. Ale might smell delightful, but I've yet to find one I didn't think tasted like fresh horse piss, and yes, you might say it's an acquired taste, but why the hell would I want to acquire a taste for _that_?"_

_ Duncan laughed. "Ah, yes, and you're such a connoisseur of stable waste that you'd know the flavor of fine, fresh horse piss from stale, I suppose?"_

_ Kyle grinned as he found another bottle in Duncan's small supply of libations, ignoring Duncan's jest. "Ah, mead! Now _here's_ a drink truly fit for divine lips. Or priestly ones, at any rate." He raised an eyebrow at Duncan, who nodded permission for Kyle to help himself. Kyle deftly broke the wax seal holding the cork in place and poured himself a generous quantity of the honey-gold beverage._

_ "Whoa, son! That's heady stuff you're pouring."_

_ "Oh, I know. Mead's the strong beverage of choice in Llyr. Well, that and cider, but I prefer a good mead." Kyle strode over to the other chair facing the hearth, taking a seat across from Duncan, cradling his goblet in his hands. "Don't worry, I won't lose my head over one glass, even one this size."_

_ They sat in companionable silence for a few moments, each sipping his beverage of choice. After a short while, Duncan smiled at the younger priest and asked softly, "Speaking of things one might lose one's head over, are you still struggling with your heart over that lass you mentioned to me this past summer?"_

_ The lad's grin broadened. "'Things one might lose one's head over'? Was that question meant to have a double-meaning, Duncan _a chara_?" His eyes sparkled mischief at the older priest, and a laugh burst forth as he saw a chagrined expression flit across Duncan's features. _

_Duncan shook his head, suppressing a smile and attempting to look stern. "No, it most certainly wasn't. Why, do I need to go put on my purple stole?"_

_ "No, no..." Kyle contained his amusement, sipping on his mead until he was certain he'd regained his composure before looking back up at Duncan, his face only slightly flushed when he finally met the older priest's eyes again. "To answer your question...yes, I still struggle. But I'm...doing somewhat better now, I think. I've prayed about it. Often. And of course there's my studies to distract me, and King Brion's missions to keep me occupied for days at a time." He shrugged. "Doesn't take away the longing, of course, but it eases it somewhat. And there's the simple satisfaction of knowing I'm _trying_ to do the right thing, and hopefully I'll continue to be able to do so, by God's grace. Don't worry; I've taken your counsel quite to heart."_

_Duncan smiled approvingly at Kyle over his goblet of ale. "Good."_

_"I do sometimes wish things could be different, though." Kyle regarded his brother priest steadily, his clear green eyes serious for once. "I don't simply need heirs; I _want_ heirs. I love children. And obviously, in order for me to have them—well, at least for me to do so honorably—I'll need to marry someday." He sipped at his mead._

_"True. Well, it's still possible you'll find someone both suitable for your needs of state yet desirable enough to you as a man and compatible enough in spirit that love can eventually follow, if not actually precede, a match made for more practical reasons."_

_"Mayhap. Sometimes I worry, though..." Kyle swirled the mead in his glass, studying its contents. "I'm hardly in a position to wed anyone right now, in any case. The work I've been sent here to do in Brion's service is hardly safe, and offers little stability. I'm gone for days, even weeks, at a time, doing hazardous work without being able to say where it is that I go or what I do, or even reveal—" He paused. "Well, suffice it to say I have to keep many a secret, even from you, and God knows I'm closer to you than anyone else here at Rhemuth. Who would want to accept my offer, under such conditions, even if my heart were free?"_

_Duncan gave him a wry smile. "I don't suppose you realize you've just described the reality of life for most noblewomen of Gwynedd, do you? They too have to wed men who might be called upon to ride forth at any time for King and kingdom, possibly never to return, or who must at least leave them for weeks or months at a time to attend to Court business here in Rhemuth while their wives remain behind at home, tending to their estates. I really fail to see much difference between what you'd be asking and what any other nobleman of the realm would, in offering for a lady's hand."_

_Kyle looked slightly startled, then gave Duncan a rueful smile. "You may be right. Except it's a little bit different, in my case."_

_"Oh?" Duncan raised an eyebrow. "How so?"_

_Kyle took another sip of his mead. "Unfortunately, that's one of those things I'm not permitted to explain, not even to you." He studied his boot tops for a long moment, then looked back up at Duncan. "I _shall_ explain it, someday, when I'm free to. I can't stand you not knowing, even though I sometimes worry what you'll think of me once you know."_

_ Duncan studied the younger man for a long moment, then smiled. "I think we've become strong enough friends by now that I can't imagine I would be shaken too much by any secret you might have to reveal. It doesn't matter so much to me what you might have done or might yet have to do in Brion's service; that's a matter between you and God. But I know your heart, Kyle, and you're a good man."_

_ Kyle's smile turned rueful. "Some days I'm a far better man than others. You have _no _idea, Duncan." He chuckled._

_Duncan looked thoughtfully across at him. "I was joking earlier, but _do_ you have some burden on your heart you need to confess?" His voice was gentle with compassion, for he could see that something was troubling his young friend, despite his earlier merriment. _

_ But Kyle merely shook his head. "I've no sins to share today, just secrets a-plenty, and those I'm not free to share with you, even under the seal of a confessional. Not yet, anyway. Some, perhaps never at all." The green eyes regarded him wistfully, then the young priest laughed again, though the mirth was laced with pain. "Sometimes I wish I _could_ just sin with wild abandon, though, and the devil take the consequences; that would take care of at least _some_ of my more fleshly yearnings." He smiled. "But don't worry. That's truly just a jest; I've no intention of doing any such thing."_

_Duncan took a long swallow of ale. "Good. Because I assure you, that truly wouldn't help. Not if you're anything like me, at any rate."_

_ Kyle regarded his mentor over his mead. "Duncan," he said finally, "I realize this is a very personal question, and you needn't answer it if you feel it's overly personal or presumptuous of me to ask, but have you ever lapsed?" His cheeks warmed. "In matters of chastity, I mean. I know I probably shouldn't ask—probably _wouldn't_, except..." He looked away, into the warm fire nearby. "You're more than just a friend to me now; you're the closest thing I have in Gwynedd to an anamchara." He laughed softly. "No, actually you're the closest thing I have _anywhere_ to an anamchara, and keeping my thoughts chaste _is_ a very real struggle I've been having lately." Kyle blushed. "Not that I can actually _act_ on any of those thoughts, but still!"_

_ "And what exactly is an 'anamchara'?" Duncan asked gently. He thought he could work out the literal meaning—the language of the Isles was close enough to the Borderer dialect he'd grown up hearing among his father's vassals in his early youth that he could understand the few bits of Llyrian idiom that his younger friend occasionally used—but sometimes more figurative meanings were lost in translation. _

_ "It means 'soul-friend,' Kyle replied. "But the underlying meaning is much more than that. I suppose you might say it translates as something like 'spiritual mentor,' though again, that hardly captures the full essence either, since it can go both ways. It's more like someone who encourages you in your spiritual walk, tells you the truths you need to hear, and travels life's path together with you. He shrugged slightly and laughed, a little self-consciously. "It means 'anamchara,' Duncan; I really can't explain it any better than that."_

_ Duncan smiled. "I suppose not, but that's fine; I think I understand. And yes. Once."_

_ It took a moment for Duncan's statement to register, but once it did, Kyle stared at his friend, momentarily stunned. "Really?"_

_ The faintest hint of a rueful smile shadowed the corners of Duncan's mouth as he took another sip of his ale before replying. "Yes. Kyle, never put another man on a pedestal, not even your anamchara. You'll only put him in a position to fall off."_

_ "I suppose you're right." Kyle had recovered a bit more of his equilibrium, and now simply regarded his mentor curiously, a legion of questions flitting across his face but remaining unasked. _

_ Duncan smiled more broadly. "And now you're wanting to know."_

_ "Yes. I mean, No!" Kyle laughed. "Jesú, that wasn't the answer I was expecting; you know it wasn't!"_

_ "All right, then there's lesson two: never ask me a question you don't want an honest answer to." He regarded the blushing young priest sympathetically._

_ "Lesson learned!"_

_ Duncan leaned back in his chair, eyes drifting ceilingward as he sat lost in thought for a long moment. "I was a little older than you, in my nineteenth summer, I think. Definitely old enough to know better, still a bit too headstrong and hot-blooded to care. And at the time, I was still working through my struggles over losing Maryse." He glanced at Kyle, then took another slow sip of his ale before continuing on. "I was traveling on church business, and chanced to stop at an inn for the night. It was a slow night, and so I struck up a conversation with the barmaid, a lovely young lass about your age, hair of gold like that mead you're holding. She looked a little like Maryse, or so I fancied, though I was a bit less than fully sober by the end of that evening, so that's easily debatable." He took another sip from his ale. "Though I wasn't so drunk I didn't know full well what I was doing. At any rate, I was tired and lonely, and she was willing, even though she must have known from my riding cassock that I was hardly in any position to offer her anything more than one night's pleasure." He swallowed. "And I was young and foolish enough, and still angry enough at God, to think it wouldn't matter so much if I broke my vows just that once. Just one time."_

_ "But it did?"_

_ "Yes. And still does, on occasion. I learned something very important about myself that night, Kyle. I learned that, unlike some of our brothers, I'm simply not able to use and discard a woman just for my own convenience and pleasure. All commandments, all morality, all priestly vows aside, even if I were under no obligation to be celibate or chaste, I'm not able to do so and live with a clear conscience about it afterwards. Because whenever I look at a beautiful woman's form, yes, I still feel the stirrings and I probably always will, but when I look into her eyes, I see her not just as a plaything, but as a person. A person with her own needs and feelings, and with a soul." He looked wistfully down at his glass, downing the last of its contents. "I confessed it a very long time ago, and yes, the sin is cleansed now as if it had never happened—I've no doubts about God's forgiveness and grace—but what remains is the regret. I still wonder sometimes what became of the lass. If she ever found someone to love, if she ever married, if we'd made a child together that night. God, I hope not!" He sighed, looked up at his young friend. "So. Will you forgive your anamchara for being merely human, at least in _that_ respect?"_

_ Kyle nodded, his clear green eyes filled with empathy. "Of course. Actually...I'm glad now that you've told me. I think it might be easier for me to be more fully honest with you when I _do_ have things I need to confess now, knowing you haven't simply struggled with temptations and overcome them, but that you also know what it is to__—_"

_ "Truly screw things up?" Duncan grinned._

_ Kyle laughed. "Well, I was going more for something like 'have to get back on the horse again once you fall off,' but I suppose your description is more apt, given the circumstances."_

Duncan withdrew from the link with me, studying me with a faint smile. "You're a couple of years older now than my soul-friend was back in those early days. There's a lot more memories than those, of course; several years' worth. But that should give you some idea of how my friendship with Catriona first started, and how quickly we grew close. Although obviously I had no idea she was even a woman in those days, much less that she was Catriona of Llyr."

I nodded. "An' how did ye find out about that? When did she tell you? Or did ye have tae figure it out on yer own?"

"Oh no, she eventually told me, but not until several years after. Kelson was already King by then, and we were embroiled with those early struggles of his reign, between the threat of Wencit's invasion and the ecclesiastical unrest between the Church and Kelson over the Deryni question. Not to mention other, more personal, battles. So, have I kept to my word so far, or have I unduly shocked you with any of those revelations yet?"

I shook my head, regarding my father with a faint smile. "No' unduly, nae, but if th' plan tae wed wi' Cat comes tae naught, at least I'll know better than tae court th' daughters of any golden-haired barmaids."

Duncan rolled his eyes, blushing slightly. "You're a duke now, Dhugal. Kelson could hardly allow you to, regardless. At any rate, shall I continue?"

I chuckled, taking a quick sip of my wine before reaching my hand out to him again. "Aye."

_Duncan was strolling through a wooded glade just outside Culdi, needing to get away for a short while to pray. The writ of excommunication lay heavily on his soul, the grief of losing the blessed comfort of receiving—much less administering—the sacraments weighing heavily on the young priest's heart, compounding the additional grief of losing a beloved brother and his cousin, Alaric's sister, all in one evil swoop. Mere days had passed since their funeral—one in which he'd performed his priestly offices for one last time, unsanctioned, perhaps never to be allowed to take them back up again. _

_ He traveled with Kelson now, their paths uncertain, for the boy King risked excommunication himself simply for continuing to accept his and Alaric's counsel. Not that this had stopped Kelson from assuming that risk. He'd had little choice; Wencit of Torenth would soon be on the move against Gwynedd, and they must stop his invasion, threat of excommunication for Kelson and Interdict for his whole Kingdom or no. But for the moment, Duncan was alone, having been allowed by Kelson to draw apart from the royal camp for a short while to seek solace from the God he still yearned to serve._

_ A sound reached his ears, a soft melody, so quiet he thought he had imagined it at first, but as he continued on, it grew a little louder. He stopped, not wanting to disturb the player of such lovely strains, but then he heard a voice start to sing in tune with the ethereal music. It was a hymn, he was startled to realize, but not one he'd ever heard before, and not one in the common tongue of Gwynedd. No, this was in a language quite similar to that spoken in the borders, and indeed even here in parts of his own Kierney and Cassan, and while Duncan wasn't fully fluent in the language of his distant ancestors, being more a product of the Court of Rhemuth than of his nominally Borderer bloodline, he understood enough of the words to catch the general gist._

_ It was a woman's voice singing the paean of praise, her voice low yet not mannishly so. Duncan took another few steps forward until he was looking over the crest of a short rise. In the depression below sat a young woman with her back to him, a small harp in her lap of the sort the bordermen called a clarsach, strumming the melody as she sang. _

_ She turned slightly, her face in profile to him now, and Duncan thought she looked familiar somehow, although he could not place how or why. As he watched her, wondering if he should approach or turn back, she turned her face more fully over her shoulder to look up at him. "Welcome, Father," she said._

_ Duncan was startled, though he tried to mask it. Ever since his excommunication, he had taken to wearing secular clothing, with nothing but the somber black of the fabric to hint at his priestly vocation. Wary, yet curious, he asked, "Why do you call me that?"_

_ She strummed a chord idly, a hint of a smile playing on her lips. "Well, for one thing, you haven't had time to fully grow out your tonsure. Which is a shame, since it's a rather silly style to inflict on any man, but on you it's an utterly unnecessary waste of perfectly lovely hair." She laughed at his expression. "I'm sorry. My confessor says I can be a bit too outspoken in my opinions."_

_ He couldn't help but smile back. "I don't mind." He took a step forward, and although the woman said nothing about his approach, she turned slightly towards him as if in welcome. "If I might ask," he continued, "what was that song you were singing just now?"_

_ She strummed the clarsach softly, echoing the notes she'd sung earlier. "It is a hymn of my people, a hymn of the Church of Shiele."_

_ "Ah." That explained the islander tongue, at least, although the woman's speaking voice contained almost nothing of the lilt of her island home. "I know a priest of Shiele; my anamchara, as it happens. Or he _was_ my anamchara, at least." Duncan looked wistful. "I don't know how my present status might affect that. You are from Llyr, then?"_

_ "I am, good Father. And, like you, also a priest." She slanted a smile up at him, her eyes twinkling in what might have been mischief, since the Church of Gwynedd, unlike the Church of Shiele, did not ordain women to the priesthood. "You _are_ a priest forever, you know."_

_ "You're an awfully long way from home, then," Duncan replied, making no comment about her priestly vocation or his current state of excommunication. _

_ "That I am," she agreed, "although all places are home for me, when I follow my calling."_

_ "Your priestly calling sends you to Culdi?" Duncan raised a skeptical eyebrow at her._

_ "No," she conceded. "But I have another calling as well, as I'm sure your King will share with you in time. Your cousin knows, though." She smiled, enjoying Duncan's confusion, and stood, tucking the lap harp under her arm. "I must go, but I'm certain we shall meet again." Her smile faded as her clear green eyes gazed up at him in compassion. "I imagine you must miss the Blessed Sacrament."_

_ Duncan nodded, his eyes growing wistful. "Indeed, my lady."_

_ "If the circumstances permit, perhaps I can serve you in that way, next time we meet. _If_ you are willing to accept the bread and the wine from a priest of Shiele, and a woman at that?" She smiled._

_ "I would be honored, but alas, I'm not permitted anymore."_

_ "Shiele does not hold your excommunication valid, but I shall leave that to your conscience. Good afternoon, Father Duncan."_

_ With that, the young woman slipped away down the wooded trail._

"When did ye realize ye already knew her?" I asked my father.

"Oh, it wasn't very long after that. Maybe a couple of months later. Morgan and I had just met back up with the King's encampment at Dol Shaia, just prior to our return to Dhassa to explain our side of the story about what happened at St. Torin's earlier in the year." He smiled ruefully. "You know, the whole set-up and ambush which led to the events that caused us to be excommunicated in the first place? Well, _me_, at least; Alaric's excommunication was already a given, but up until then, they didn't know that I was Deryni also. It was late one evening at Dol Shaia, just at the edge of our encampment, that my old friend Kyle revealed the secret that he had long been hiding from me, on the eve before we each went our separate ways in Kelson's service..."

_Duncan sat in shadow near the edge of the royal encampment, looking across the landscape at the distant hills towards which the army of Gwynedd would soon be marching. But that journey was not yet imminent. For Alaric and Duncan, there was another destination that must come first, for before Gwynedd could face Wencit's invasion forces with a united front, they must first resolve the conflict in Corwyn. And to do that, they needed the support of Gwynedd's bishops—or, at the very least, needed them to be as undivided as possible over the Deryni question while the kingdom was poised on the brink of war. _

_ But for now, Duncan simply sat and rested. It had been a long day, after traveling many a mile through battle-ravaged countryside, for they'd traveled through Jennan Vale, where Warin de Gray's rebels wreaked havoc in their anti-Deryni rampage, and Duncan was tired._

_A figure approached in the near-darkness, calling out softly so as not to startle Duncan unduly, yet not so loudly as to call more distant ears' attention to himself. Duncan looked up at the other person's approach, and discovered to his delight that the new arrival was his friend of several years, the young priest of Shiele, Kyle._

_ Duncan had not seen Kyle in several months, and while it was not wholly unexpected to find him here in Kelson's camp—he _was_ working in Kelson's service now, after all—Duncan had not heard that Kyle was actually back from wherever it was that the young King had sent him to scout out information this month. _

_ Duncan rose to greet his friend with a hearty embrace, clapping the younger man's back in warm affection. "It's good to see you, lad! How have you been?"_

_ The clear green eyes smiled back at him from features that were a bit older now than Duncan remembered them being, even though it had not been all that long ago since they'd last parted, but the months of added danger had added a new maturity to the young man's face. He still looked quite boyish—he was, after all, only nineteen still—but the angles of cheek and jaw had a new hardness to them that had not been there previously. Or perhaps Duncan, looking at him through the eyes of long familiarity, had simply not noticed them earlier. Long weeks of travel out of doors had also darkened skin from ivory to light gold, and added paler streaks of sunlight to tawny-gold hair._

_ The grin was the same though. "Jesú, Duncan, I nearly didn't recognize you under that bush you've grown on your chin! I heard you've been traveling incognito, but tell me you're going to trim that thing eventually; if you're attempting to look disreputable, you've succeeded admirably."_

_ Duncan laughed. "Well, it got me and Alaric through Jennan Vale in one piece."_

_ "What, that one beard did? I can believe that! Alaric probably hid behind it." Kyle sat on the ground by Duncan's feet, poking at him with a booted toe as he teased._

_ Duncan grinned. "I take it you haven't seen Alaric's yet."_

_ "Not yet." Kyle cocked his head, studying his anamchara's newly disguised features. "Still... If you tamed that beast just a bit, it really wouldn't look half bad. It mainly just needs trimming and shaping."_

_ Duncan laughed. "Don't get attached to the pet. I'm not planning on keeping it forever."_

_ "Can I at least name it before you foster it out?"_

_ "Watch it, lad. You may have grown a bit, but I can still thrash you."_

_ Kyle's grin grew even wider. "Ooh. You can try..." _

_ Duncan's arm shot out, lightning fast, catching the younger man across the torso and causing him to almost topple backwards onto the dusty ground. Kyle caught himself about halfway down, turned descent into a roll towards his old friend, catching Duncan about the waist, but the older priest, still in reasonable fighting trim from years of training as a nobleman's son before ever donning a cassock, swiftly flipped the tables on his friend again. The impromptu wrestling match was on._

_ It was, however, brief, ending nearly as quickly as it had started, for while the younger man was swift of reflex, his strength was no match for Duncan's. Kyle's unrepentant grin shone up at his friend in the moonlight. "You can't kill me yet, Duncan," he joked. "I've not made my confession."_

_ Duncan sat up, releasing Kyle. "Well, heaven forfend you should die unshriven." _

_ Kyle looked up from dusting off tunic and trousers, his face going suddenly still, his eyes serious. "That reminds me, Duncan; there's something I need to confess to you. Something I should have shared with you a long time ago, but haven't been free to until now."_

_ Duncan raised an eyebrow at him. "Kyle, I'm excommunicate. I would love to offer you the sacrament, but__—_"

_ "No, not that sort of confession, _a chara_. I've already been to Bishop Istelyn for that. I ride for Cardosa tomorrow, to gather information about Wencit's troop movements; did you know?"_

_ "Oh." Duncan felt as though someone had poured ice water down his back. "No, I didn't know. Be _very_ careful." It seemed an inadequate thing to say, but what else was there to be said? "What sort of confession, then?"_

_ "I'm...not what I appear to be."_

_ Duncan cocked his head at his friend, wondering what Kyle meant by that cryptic statement. "Very few people are," he said, after a long moment. "But in what way are you other than what you appear to be?"_

_ For answer, Kyle simply looked around the encampment, his eyes studying their surroundings. "Not here," he finally decided. "Follow me."_

_ Duncan followed Kyle until they were in the shadow of a large pavilion, well out of sight of anyone's eyes. In the extremely dim light, Duncan could hardly see Kyle at all now, even though the young man was standing within arm's reach. Kyle took a small step to one side, just enough to bring him directly under a faint patch of moonlight so Duncan could see him better, but without putting himself within line of sight of the main encampment, and simply said, "Watch."_

_ Duncan did. And before his eyes, where Kyle had stood just a moment earlier, a young woman gazed back at him._

_ Duncan stared a long moment, one hand involuntarily starting to reach up towards her flowing hair, as if needing touch to confirm vision, but he stopped his hand before it got that far. "Who..._are_ you?"_

_ The woman's familiar green eyes gazed trustingly up at him in the near-darkness. "I am Catriona, Lady of Llyr, the Kyle of Shiele." She smiled gently. "I told you truly that I was Kyle of Shiele; I simply never mentioned it is my title, not my given name. And all else I've ever told you about me is true, for I've ever been as honest with you as my loyalties to Brion and Kelson have allowed me to be. I am, in truth, a priest of Shiele, and I hope still your anamchara. If you will still have me, that is." She looked uncertain, her eyes vulnerable._

_ Duncan was stunned. "I..." He swallowed. "Yes. Of course." He laughed abruptly, a sound more of amazement than actual mirth, as myriad pieces of a puzzle he'd never realized had been heretofore incomplete suddenly clicked into place to form a completely different picture than he'd expected to find. He found himself half smiling as he said, "My Lady, if you'll excuse me, I think I'd better sit." Which he promptly did, with much more suddenness than finesse, still hidden in the deep shadows at the base of the pavilion wall behind him._

_ She sat as well, her descent more graceful, ending up beside him, not quite touching but close enough for him to be very aware of her warmth. "I'm sorry," she said. "I _did_ try to warn you once that I worried what you would think of me once you knew my secret."_

_ Duncan nodded. "So you did. And I think..." He laughed again. "Dear God, I think I'm actually relieved, honestly. Jesú, this explains so much!"_

_ It was Catriona's turn to look bemused. "It does?"_

_ Duncan slanted her a sidelong look. "You have _no_ idea how much I've worried about myself over the past year," he said feelingly._

_ "Worried...?" she asked, utterly baffled. _

_ He grinned, looking suddenly boyish despite the two months' growth of beard disguising his features. "Yes, worried. Ky—Catriona, was it?"_

_ She nodded._

_ "Hm. How can I put this delicately?"_

_ She laughed. "You've never bothered with delicacy before,_ a chara._ You're still speaking to Kyle; just come out and say it."_

_ Duncan was glad the darkness was deep enough to hide the rising warmth in his cheeks. "Let me just say that there were moments when I wondered if I might end up giving the Curia some other reason for excommunicating me, if not actually burning my hide, besides simply for being Deryni! Except that, I quite assure you, I don't normally have that—um__—_potent_ a reaction to young men. Or males of any age, for that matter. Just, for reasons I absolutely couldn't fathom until now, occasionally around _you_." He drew his knees up towards him, circling his arms around them, and risked a glance at her with a quiet chuckle._

_ "I don't—Oh!" She laughed, her cheeks glowing a faint pink in the dim moonlight washing over her. _

_ "Yes, 'Oh.'" Duncan sighed. "I don't know if you being a woman makes things less complicated or more so." He reached down, finding her hand between them, and gave it a light squeeze. "But thank you for telling me. I take it this still isn't common knowledge?"_

_ "No one else can know, only you. And Kelson and Alaric, of course. Alaric has known since Brion's reign, and after Brion's death, he brought Kelson into the secret. I would have told you much earlier, but—"_

_ "But you didn't want to put me in a position where I might have to lie to my ecclesiastical superiors in order to protect your secret. Yes, that much at least, I'd figured out a long time ago." Duncan sat watching Cat in silence for a long moment before adding, "You should know, Alaric and I are also leaving in the morning, for Dhassa."_

_ "Yes; Kelson told me. I wish you well with that. Kelson needs a unified Curia, or at least as unified a Curia as he can get right now, and he definitely needs a unified Gwynedd if we're to go up against Torenth any day now." Her eyes shone up at Duncan in the dim light. "And you need to get back into a proper cassock and do something about that unruly porcupine on your chin." Her eyes traveled to the top of his head. "I rather like the hair, though."_

_ Duncan smiled. "So you said before, the last time we met." He ran a fingertip along the palm of the hand he still held, feeling the familiar sword calluses the woman beside him had also had in her form as Kyle. They jogged an old memory. "That wasn't the first time I'd ever seen you in this form before, though, was it? I saw a very young woman sword-training once with Sir Michael of Llyr many years ago, in my father's lands in Cassan."_

_ "Aye, I remember that." She laughed. "And one other time when you might have caught a quick glimpse of me, though once I realized you were watching, I slipped back into my usual guise."_

_ Duncan chuckled. "Yes, yet another one of those odd moments I wondered about. I chalked it up to needing to spend more time in prayer. Or brisk exercise. _Something_."_

_ They lapsed into silence again. This time, it was broken by Cat._

_ "Duncan...there's something I need to give you." She reached into a belt pouch, brought out a folded parchment sealed with wax. "There are two letters in here. One is for my brother Michael; the other is for you. If I haven't returned before the engagement with Wencit, wait a month just to make sure I'm not simply delayed in getting back, but after that, if I'm still not back, send Michael's letter to him in Llyr. It's my will, Duncan."_

_ "Catriona..."_

_ "Kelson has a copy also, but I figured it would be a good idea to make more than one. And, of course, the other letter is for you. But don't open it, unless... Well, you know." _

_ Duncan gripped her hand firmly, raising it to his lips. "Cat, I'll hold them in safe-keeping for you, but you'll come back from this."_

_ She smiled bravely. "That's my plan. But you know how life has a way of veering off into unexpected directions while you're busy making plans." She sighed. "Of course, I'm not sure if giving a copy of my will to a man who's about to march back _into _Dhassa, after burning down half of St. Torin's, is much of a backup plan."_

_ Duncan smiled back. "I wasn't precisely planning on marching. Besides that being terribly indiscreet, Dhassa's on an island, you know." He dropped Cat's hand, rising to his feet, then offered her a hand up. She stood, standing to face him, just at arm's length._

_ "I'm awful at goodbyes, Duncan. Go with God, though, and hopefully we'll meet again on the other side of all this."_

_ "Cat, wait." Duncan lightly grasped her arms, studying her downturned face. "What's troubling you? I know it's not just that Kelson is sending you to scout the Torenthi border; you've done that lots of times before. Is it Wencit?"_

_ She shook her head. "Not really. Although Wencit's a very powerful Deryni, with better training and far more experience than I have. I'm outmatched, I know, though I'm the best Kelson can spare in terms of trained Deryni to report back on his movements. It's not like your Gwynedd has a plethora of us just sitting around waiting for a job to do. I'll just have to be sure to stay well out of Wencit's notice." She smiled wryly._

_ "But if it's not spying on Wencit that's troubling you, what is it, then?"_

_ She closed her eyes. "I'm not particularly scared for myself, Duncan; I'm terrified for _you!_ Have you been around Archbishop Loris lately? Or yet encountered Warin de Grey? And now you're going back to Dhassa! What if Cardiel and Arilan can't be convinced, what if__—_"

_ Duncan silenced her with a finger to her lips. "Then they'll be unconvinced." He drew her closer, gathering her into his embrace. "And what's the worst thing that could happen in that case?"_

_ "Well, you could stay excommunicated, unable to resume your vocation again; you could even die! You're not immortal, you know."_

_ He pulled back from her slightly to smile down at her, one eyebrow raised. "Am I not? The Church of Gwynedd can try to disown me, but I don't think _God_ has, no matter what some of my brother churchmen may say. My dear anamchara, where is your faith?" _

_ She averted her eyes, fixing her gaze on Duncan's throat instead. "Shaking in its boots, I think. I'm sorry, Duncan. It's just that I'm exceedingly fond of you, and if you go and get martyred on me, I might never taste your mead again. And it's very fine mead." She looked back up at him with a shaky smile._

_ He stroked her hair. "I'm exceedingly fond of you too. Even if I can't teach you how to appreciate a good ale."_

_ Her eyes filled with tears. "Sometimes I wish I were just an ordinary woman, and not The Kyle," she whispered._

_ "I'm glad you _are_ The Kyle," he whispered back, "Else we'd probably never have met. Though at the moment I find myself wishing I were just an ordinary man."_

_ "Instead of?"_

_ He sighed, savoring the feel of her in his arms a moment more, then gently pulling away. "Instead of a priest of Gwynedd. Though I am at least technically free from my vows at the moment, I suppose."_

_ "Aye. But hopefully not for much longer, if you succeed in Dhassa." She averted her eyes, unable to meet his gaze. "I do wish you success, though."_

_ He sensed the truth of her words, but sensed also how much they had cost her, and at last realized he'd found out the final secret she'd held back from him._

_ "I _do_ love you, Catriona," he found himself saying. "It's just that I'm no longer free to do so in all the ways you'd have of me, at least not if Cardiel__—_"

_ It was her turn to silence him, laying fingertips to his lips with a sad smile up at him. "I know. You love me, but you love God more, and He found you first. It's all right. I've always known I can't have you, not as anything more than my dearest of friends, anyway. And I could no more separate you from your true vocation than I can separate myself from mine. Nor would I want to. I love you, Duncan, _all _of you, and that includes everything you are. And what you _are_, no matter what those idiots in your Curia might say, is a priest." She reached up to stroke a stray lock of hair away from his face. "You told me once, though, many years ago, that you thought continuing as friends might be a more difficult path to take, but not impossible. Are you still willing to walk that path with me, come whatever may?"_

_ He captured her hand in his, kissing her palm, closing her fingers around his kiss. "You left out the rather vital information that you were talking about us when we had that conversation, so next time you visit your confessor, you might want to have him school you again about lies of omission." He smiled down at her. "But yes, I _am_ willing. Come whatever may."_

_ She laughed. "Well, I expect you would have shied like a balky horse if I'd told you I was referring to us back _then_, chara. You thought I was a boy!"_

_ Duncan grinned. "The first time I ever saw you, in Cassan, Alaric teased me afterwards for calling you a girl. He said at my age I ought to know the difference between a girl and a woman. I can hardly wait for him to find out I've spent the past two years not knowing a woman from a boy. I'll _never_ hear the end of it!"_

It stung a bit, watching the woman I loved stand in my father's arms, opening her heart to him, although I knew this had happened years ago, before I'd even come to manhood, for Kelson had barely been old enough to be crowned as King in his own right in those handful of months preceding Wencit's invasion, and I was born the year after my blood brother, not yet of legal age myself in those dark days. Yet I had asked to know, and even before Duncan had shared the memory, I'd understood the bond Catriona shared with my father went well beyond simple friendship. Still, confirmation of that knowledge was a painful thing.

But her acceptance that he would never be able to act as more than a friend to her also shone through those memories, and if she could be persuaded to allow me into her heart as well, to give her the children she longed for and the pleasures of a husband's love that my father could not offer, I was willing to try, for even as she'd loved and accepted him exactly as he was, so I wished to love and accept her.

I smiled at my father. "I cannae blame ye for bein' taken in for sae long. Man_y's _th' time I saw Th' Kyle—aye, fought alongside o' her a time or two as well—an' never suspected a thing until tha' night she showed me her true form. She may take on th' guise of a lad, but her fightin' skill's her own, an' bein' Th' Kyle comes sae natural tae her now, ye'd never know there's a lass under th' illusion. Still..." I grinned. "Ye ever think back later, once ye knew, an' wondered 'Oh God, what th' hell has she ever seen me say or do tha' I'd never dream o' doin' 'round a lass, if I'd only known at th' time!'?"

A sheepish look crossed Duncan's face. "I wouldn't have asked her to teach me that rain shower spell, for one thing." Seeing my expression, he laughed. "Oh, don't worry; we were still clothed." His eyes gleamed with suppressed humor. "Well, partly."

I tossed off the dregs of the mulled wine I still held, though they had grown cold. "I know I asked, but I could hae lived wi'out knowin' about_ that _example, father." Turning the goblet in my hands, I studied it a long moment before looking back up at him. "Keep in mind, ye've had years tae sort out yer feelin's for Cat, an' she for you. I'm still just startin' tae understan' th' depths of it, though, an' I'm no' nearly as sure o' Cat's feelin's for me as ye are about yer feelin's for each other. While I accept the bond between you is a big part o' who ye both are, I cannae lie an' say it sits well wi' me tae hear about th' woman I love bathin' wi' another man! No' even you, no matter what ye were still wearin', wha' form she was in, or how innocent th' circumstances. Ye understan' tha', I hope?"

He sighed, looking quite chastened. "Yes. I'm sorry, son. I simply didn't think, and you're right, that's probably because we _have_ had years to work those feelings through. And also because those years have changed us as well. You weren't even in the picture then—I wouldn't even know I had a son for another couple of years—and of course Catriona hadn't fallen in love with you yet, if she'd even noticed a young borderer page serving tables at Court."

"Aye, I know." I set the goblet down. "An' I'm sorry too. I had nae meant tae jump on ye; after all, ye just meant tae answer the question I'd asked. It's just...that last sharin' hit a sore spot." I looked across at him with a hopeless shrug. "She's in love wi' you. How do I get past _that_?"

He shook his head. "No, son. She _was_ in love with me once, but that was years ago. Yes, she still loves me, and I hope in some way she always will, for she's very dear to me, but now she's in love with _you_. I could show you that, if you'll allow me. If you wish to truly understand Catriona's heart as it stands now, you need to understand how things were back then. For it's all the experiences of our past that shape our present, and each stage of our lives builds on the one before."

I gazed at him a long moment, then nodded. "Aye. Just know if ye do anythin' sae daft as tae share memories o' th' two of ye in a shower-workin' together, I reserve th' right tae take a swing at ye." A sudden memory made me grin, and I added, "And just so ye know, she's taught me tha' workin' too, an' she looks damn fine soakin' wet, even fully clothed. It's a good thing she taught ye that workin' as The Kyle, for I'd hate tae have tae blind ye for havin' seen her as I have!"

He laughed. "Touché, son. That's a killing blow, I think."

I clasped his hand again and let him lead me through more of his memories.

_Duncan knelt at a prie-dieu in his pavilion at the Gwynedd encampment, after the Duel Arcane with Wencit, the re-taking of Cardosa from the Torenthi invaders, and Alaric's storming of Esgair Ddu to rescue Catriona. He knew that she had suffered greatly at Wencit's hands, knew that Alaric had had to use his Deryni powers to heal her, and that even now she lay in another pavilion nearby, under Countess Richenda's care. Beyond that, he knew nothing certain, for Alaric had shared few details about Cat's injuries save that she was more badly wounded in spirit than in body, for she'd suffered no physical injuries that lay beyond his ability to heal._

_ But having seen Wencit's other handiwork up close, and having seen how Derry had been used by the cruel Torenthi King, Duncan feared that this woman who had taken up lodgings in his heart had been through far worse of a trial than Alaric had let on, perhaps was going through one still. So he knelt, head bowed before Another who had once suffered most cruelly, and prayed for guidance on how to walk this thorny path beside his anamchara._

_He heard a footfall behind him and turned slightly, one hand reaching for a sword hilt out of reflex, for his instincts were still in battle mode. She stood in the open doorway of the tent, looking pale and far more frail than when he'd last seen her, before they'd parted ways at Dol Shaia._

_ "Catriona!" He stood hurriedly, walked to her side to usher her to a camp stool. "You shouldn't be out and about yet. Alaric said you still need to regain strength."_

_ She smiled wanly. "He's done wonders, Duncan, but Deryni healing doesn't do much to cure being half starved. Not that my jailers didn't feed me, but I was trying a new spiritual discipline—the merasha fast." A glimmer of the old mischief in her eyes. _

_ "Then eat. Here, I have some..." Duncan looked around the pavilion, trying to find the stored foodstuffs._

_ "Bread? Wine?" She laughed. _

_ Duncan smiled. "Well, I was looking to serve you a light meal, not celebrate a Mass. Wait—here we are." He held up some fruit and cheese, and a leftover meat roll from the evening meal. "Or do you need blander fare yet?"_

_ "Duncan, I've had gruel, soup, more soup, and today worked up to a watery stew. Give me that meat roll, and no one will get hurt."_

_ He laughed, crossing the tent again to bring her the plate. She took it from him, looking down at it, her hair falling forwards across her face at the motion. Instinctively he reached to push the wayward locks back, but she flinched at his first touch, stilling herself almost immediately after, but he'd already seen her reaction and pulled back._

_ "I'm sorry," she said. "I'm still...a little sore." The excuse was true, at least in part, but Duncan suspected more lay behind the words than she wished to share. _

_"Shall I just hold your plate for you, then, while you braid your hair back?"_

_ "Aye." She handed it back to Duncan. He held it while she pulled her hair back and wove it into the neat clubbed braid she'd often worn in her guise as The Kyle, although her features remained Catriona's, and secured it with a bit of leather thong from her belt pouch. "Much better. Thank you." She reached for the plate again. Duncan handed it back to her, noting how she avoided his gaze and any direct contact with him, though the latter might have simply been coincidence. _

_ "So what brings you across camp to me, besides my meat roll?"_

_ She took a bite of the food, chewing slowly. "You," she said at last. "I just needed to see you." Cat looked up at him finally. "I see you lost the beard. Did it die shriven?"_

_ "No, I'm afraid it's completely cut off, beyond all hope of salvation."_

_ She chuckled. "Well, at least _you're_ not. I have to assume all went well with Cardiel and Arilan, seeing as they're both here and you're somewhat garbed as a priest again."_

_ "Yes, all went well. And yes, somewhat." The excommunication on Duncan and Alaric had been lifted once the two had pleaded their case before Cardiel and Arilan, but Duncan had not yet officially been restored to his priestly functions. Nor, however, had he been officially barred from taking them up again._

_ "I heard the news last night about your father's death. I'm very sorry. I was only slightly acquainted with Duke Jared, but I do recall he was a most gracious and charming host during my brief stay in Cassan."_

_ Duncan nodded. That grief was still too fresh for him to want to visit it. The thought of his father's death reminded him of something else, though. He crossed the small tent again, opening up the lockbox where he stored his more valued possessions, and took out a sealed parchment, returning to Cat's side after doing so._

_ "Last time we spoke, you entrusted this to me for safekeeping. Did you wish me to return it, or shall I continue to hold it for you?"_

_ She glanced at it briefly, then pushed the parchment back towards him. "Keep it. I'm sure there'll be other conflicts, other missions, even if Kelson doesn't believe he can send me out again. He will, someday. Just like I'll do what I need to do."_

_ "And what is that?" he asked, his voice gentling._

_ Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears. "Get back on the damned horse."_

_ He wished he could take her into his arms and shelter her from whatever pain she held dammed up deep inside, but instinctively he knew that would be the wrong response right now, that she was still not ready, was still too fragile to accept that gesture of comfort from him._

_ "Catriona, there _are_ other ways of serving our people without having to return to being The Kyle—" Duncan broke off as Cat looked up, her eyes blazing green fire at him._

_ "But then _he'll_ have broken me, won't he? And I'll be damned if I'll give him that satisfaction!"_

_ He knew without having to ask that she was referring to Wencit now, thinking back to whatever had happened between them in Esgair Ddu. Knew also that she was not ready to speak of that, not with him at least, so he said nothing._

_ "I'm sorry," she said at last. "I'm not myself right now. I'm not myself, and I'm not The Kyle..." A small laugh. "I'm not sure who I am at the moment. I just know..."_

_ "Know what, anamchara?" Duncan asked, full of compassion for her struggle._

_ She lifted her chin, looked him in the eye, raised a trembling hand to stroke his cheek. "That we walk together, you and I, come what may. And if I'm lost in darkness, I have only to look for you to find myself again eventually." _

_ Catriona handed the plate back to him, stood, turned to leave. "When you are hearing confessions again, _a chara_, send me word. I have a heart full of hatred that must be lanced so it won't fester. But I suspect now's not the best time for you to minister to that, with the Duke your father so newly buried." _

_ She walked back out into the starry darkness._

# # #

_ Rhemuth Castle, three months later. Duncan was up late, half hidden in one of the window niches of the castle library, studying one of Kelson's ancient manuscripts by candlelight. The door opened, admitting a young woman, and quietly closed behind her. _

_ Duncan put down the scroll he was perusing. "Catriona?" he asked softly._

_ In answer, she lit pale golden handfire to see better, looking around the room until she spotted him. "Duncan McLain, you'll ruin your eyes that way!" She walked around the room, stoking the fire in the hearth and lighting a spare lantern to dispel more of the night shadows from the large room. She brought this to Duncan, returning to the window embrasure where Duncan sat, setting the lantern on the window ledge beside the guttering candle and settling onto the seat across from him._

_ He studied his anamchara. Three months of recovery in Rhemuth had restored most of her previous healthy color and filled out the gaunt hollows in her cheeks, although the green eyes still held more gravity than they had previously, and her merry laugh rang out less often than before. Still, it seemed to Duncan that she was mending, albeit more slowly than he'd have liked. She had lost most of her skittishness now, at least around him, although unexpected noises or movements still made her startle at times._

_ "And how fares the intelligence gathering in the ladies' solar?" he asked, smiling when she responded as he'd suspected she would, her nose wrinkling in distaste as she snorted derisively._

_ "If I hear one more opinion about the stylishness of sleeve tippets in Bremagne, I'll cut my own throat, I swear it, Duncan!"_

_ He laughed. "I take it you're not enamoured of Bremagni fashions?" he asked._

_ "Oh, no, they're _quite_ lovely. But I don't want to talk about them for hours and hours and hours and hours and..." She pretended to nod off against her seat cushion for a moment, then sat up again. "And when it's not gowns, it's shoes, and how long or short the most stylish ones are this year, or how the ladies in Llannedd are doing their hair. Or it's which lady is angling for what lord, and whether there'll be a betrothal announced by Twelfth Night Court, or who's having a baby by Christmastide, or who's probably been _making_ a baby in some out-of-the-way tower storeroom with a broken lock that supposedly the squires haven't bothered to inform Nigel about because it's become a popular trysting place—oh Duncan, I could just _scream_! I swear, if you ever need to attract more men to the Church of Gwynedd's priesthood, just lock them in a ladies' solar for a few hours. They'll lose all desire to marry!"_

_ Duncan chuckled. "Somehow I doubt that, though they might look to marry mute women instead, my sharp-clawed kitten!" He gave her a teasing grin. "Surely the ladies aren't _all_ that bad, though?"_

_ Catriona relented slightly. "Well, no, Duchess Meraude actually has a working brain, and she does occasionally try to steer the conversation to something with a bit more substance, but that never works for long. I hope Alaric brings Richenda to Christmas Court this year. They'll be married by then, won't they?"_

_ "He's hoping so."_

_ Catriona stood, surprised Duncan by crossing the small gap between them and sitting beside him on his side of the embrasure. She peered over his arm at the scroll he had lowered while listening to her. "What are you reading?" she asked._

_ "It's an old treatise on Deryni healing."_

_ "Really?" Her eyes lit up as she scanned the parchment. "How wonderful! Aren't you taking a bit of a risk, though, reading Deryni lore here in the royal library? Suppose someone else were to take note of what you're studying?"_

_ Duncan shrugged. "Well, I _could_ say that I'm curious about Alaric's powers. I needn't mention they also happen to be my own."_

_ "Hm. I remember a certain anamchara of mine talking to me about lies of omission." She flashed a smile at him, leaning closer to read his scroll. A lock of her tawny hair fell across his arm as she leaned closer. Duncan suddenly realized that she had not seemed so much at ease with him since her return from Esgair Ddu, and he scarcely dared to breathe for fear she'd suddenly remember and be spooked again._

_ "I need something to do," she was saying, completely apropos of nothing as far as Duncan could tell, unless he'd missed something she'd said. He reviewed his memory of the past minute, but came up short._

_ "What sort of something?" Duncan asked. _

_ "Something besides 'gleaning useful intelligence' to report to Kelson from the ladies' solar! That presumes there's any intelligence there at all!"_

_ He chuckled. "Cat, have you just been a lad too long? You know you'll need to get used to being a woman eventually."_

_ She shot a look at him. "I don't mind being a woman most of the time; it's just that I can't stand being cooped up with a bevy of talking house pets!"_

_ A loud laugh burst forth from him. "So, what do women talk about at the Court of Llyr?"_

_ "Well..._Normal_ stuff! Friends, families, land-management, our shield-training, defensive strategies, ways to keep the children in fighting trim if the men are away, music, science, law, news from other kingdoms, Deryni training, archery practice, falconry..." She grinned at him. "And yes, shoes and clothes, and which woman intends to offer for which man, but not _incessantly_!"_

_ "Ah. Well, perhaps it might help to consider that many ladies of Gwynedd _can_ talk about those subjects as well—maybe not as much about the fighting arts, but at least many a noblewoman has been taught the rudiments of how to defend her own keep when her lord is away—but they spend so much of the year away from Court, and in mostly male company aside from their own ladies-in-waiting, so perhaps Rhemuth is where they look forward to returning once or twice a year so they can spend time with other ladies and gab about more inconsequential matters?" He shrugged. "It's just a thought."_

_"Mayhap. But don't ruin a good sulk. That's no fun." She grinned up at Duncan, then lay her head upon his shoulder, much to his amazement. He sat stock still for a moment, then slowly eased an arm around her waist. She didn't flinch at his touch this time, simply relaxed against him even more. He held her thus for several minutes, not speaking, simply watching her as she read the ancient scroll before them, her lips occasionally sounding out the Latin words in silence. Finally she straightened, giving him a sheepish smile as if she'd only just realized what she had done. "Your cassock smells faintly of incense," she said, her cheeks slightly pink. "It's quite nice, actually."_

_ She stood, glanced at the candles in their niche, seeing how low they had burned since her arrival. "I'd best get to bed. Goodnight, a chara."_

_ He watched her turn to leave. "Sleep well, Kitten," he said._

_ Duncan returned to his own apartment soon thereafter. He lay wide awake well into the early morning._

# # #

_ A rare visit to Catriona's apartment a month later, to return a manuscript she had lent him. Cat's young lady-in-waiting Lady Mhairi admitted him, curtsying shyly and then stepping back to let the priest enter Cat's private sitting room. She offered him a seat, then withdrew to notify Cat of his presence. _

_ Duncan sat, looking around the cozy room. Sunlight pouring through colored glass added golden warmth to the rich polished wood paneling surrounding him. A luxurious carpet lay in the center of the floor, and ornate tapestries on the walls showed mainly scenes of the hunt, although one central piece showed a lady in Llyrian dress strumming a clarsach, a unicorn reclining at her feet. The welcoming aroma of baking bread made his mouth water._

_ A door opened, and Catriona emerged from her bedchamber, pulling her loose tresses out from beneath the neck of her overdress, as if she'd hastily donned it to receive him. "Hello, anamchara mine!" she said, beaming at him. The young lady-in-waiting remained in the inner chamber, lingering a discreet distance away and pretending to be occupied with her embroidery, but keeping a curious eye on the open doorway and her mistress' visitor nonetheless._

_ Duncan stood. "I happened to be passing by this way, and thought I'd stop by for a few minutes and return your psalmody. Thank you for the loan of it." He watched as she smoothed a fold of her dress. "I didn't wake you from a nap, did I?" _

_ She laughed. "You're very welcome. No, I was just changing gowns; I spilled flour on the other one. Would you like to stay for dinner? It's just a simple hearth meal, but I felt like dining in private tonight rather than with the rest of the Court. There's enough in the pot for another person, though." She lifted the lid on an iron pot in the fireplace, giving the contents of the pot a few quick stirs, and replaced the lid. A tempting fragrance of meat, vegetables, and herbs wafted through the room._

_ His stomach rumbled._

_ "I'll take that as a yes." She grinned at her visitor as she sliced the pan-bread on the hearth and served one portion onto a plate, then crossed the room to sit beside him, offering him a bite. "Taste this. It's a Llyrian recipe. It's normally served with honey, butter, or both, or else moistened in a stew, but the stew needs to simmer for just a little longer."_

_ He took a bite of the warm bread, savoring the mingled flavors of yeasty bread, a faint suggestion of herbs, and a mild underlying sweetness. It seemed to almost melt in his mouth as he chewed it. "That is wonderful," he said once his mouth was empty again. "I wish I'd known you were serving me dinner, though. I'd have brought some wine. Or perhaps mead."_

_ She laughed, her eyes gleaming with humor as she reached for a piece of the bread for herself. "The mead would have been the safer offering, Duncan _a chara_, though I do wish you'd brought me your finest wine instead. I promise the offer wouldn't have been binding without the underlying intent and at least one more witness, but _I'd _have enjoyed it!" The mischief in her eyes grew as she studied his baffled expression. "You have no idea what I'm talking about, do you?"_

_ "Not a clue," he confirmed._

_ She stood briefly, walking over to a small chest out of which she drew a small pot of honey, which she drizzled on her portion of bread once she'd returned to their shared table. "That's considered a formal offer of marriage on Llyr, at least under the right circumstances; the equivalent to your betrothal, I suppose, although it's quite often followed immediately by the marriage ceremony. The woman offers the man of her choice some fresh-baked bread she has made with her own hands. If he accepts her offer, he reciprocates by sharing a bottle of his best wine. If this is done before two or more witnesses, and with the intent of partnering, then the betrothal becomes binding as soon as the two have shared the bread and the wine. Think of it as a communion of sorts." She grinned at him before popping a bite-sized morsel of bread into her mouth._

_ Duncan looked startled. The young girl in the next room, overhearing this part of the conversation, began quietly giggling over her embroidery. He glanced in her direction, and she ducked her head with a shy, dimpled smile, pretending to be deeply engrossed in her needlework. He shook his head with a chuckle. "Ah, well. I suppose it's just as well I didn't bring a bottle of Fianna, though I suspect it would've gone quite nicely with that stew I smell." He felt a slight twinge of regret he wasn't sharing this meal with Catriona under very different circumstances. "So, after the sharing of bread and wine, how does the rest of the ceremony go?"_

_ "Hold that thought for just a moment." Cat rose again, going to the hearth to fill two bowls with stew. She covered the pot again, slicing a little more of the herbed bread to crumble it over the bowls, found spoons and a knife for each, then brought them back to the table, placing one bowl and set of cutlery before Duncan before sitting again. "Would you bless our meal, anamchara?" she asked._

_ He did so. Catriona invited her young chaperone to dine with them, although the young lady demurred with a shy glance at the handsome young priest, fixing herself a bowl but returning to the inner chamber and taking up her needlework again._

_ "All right, the wedding itself," Cat continued once she'd settled back in her place beside Duncan. "After the wedding couple has shared a meal with their guests, most of the guests pay the bridal couple their well-wishes and then leave, except for the two chosen by the bride and groom to inspect them and proclaim each to the other to be without major blemish or physical impediment to marriage before the couple are brought together to share the cleansing bath."_

_ Duncan nearly choked on a piece of meat as Cat grinned widely. "Before they do _what_?" he managed once he stopped coughing._

_ "They share a ritual bath. In a tub, even. At least, it's _usually_ in a tub, though I suppose a Deryni couple would have alternate options..." This last was shared in a voice carefully pitched quietly enough to prevent young Mhairi in the nearby chamber from overhearing, for which Duncan was supremely grateful. Still, he felt his face warming._

_ "All right, I get the picture. Vividly." He focused on the stew and bread, trying to banish the mental image that had just flitted into his head unbidden. _

_ "And then, once the couple is pronounced fit for marriage, the remaining witnesses withdraw to allow the bridal couple privacy in the bath chamber. In the meantime, a priest blesses the marriage bed if it's not been blessed before that—the same as here in Gwynedd—and the consummation takes place shortly thereafter." Cat's eyes turned slightly wistful as she smiled at Duncan. "I do love Llyrian ceremonies. _So_ much simpler than all your rites and rituals here in Gwynedd."_

# # #

_ A little under half a year later. Duncan opened the door of his apartment, Denis Arilan following close on his heels, and stopped sharply at the threshold, nearly causing his ecclesiastical superior to run into him from behind. _

_ A tantalizing aroma greeted the two men as they stood in the corridor. Duncan, recovering from his surprise, simply smiled as he walked further into the room, inhaling deeply as he did so, and glanced around his living quarters. The dark red velvet curtains had been thrown wide open, allowing the setting sun to stream into the room through mullioned windows, the diamond-shaped panes of glass casting a shadowy grid on the carpets and hardwood floor. _

_ Duncan hung up his cloak, turning to take Bishop Arilan's as well. As he did so, he continued his study of his quarters. The pile of books that he'd left on his desk had been left in place, only tidied up a bit, as had his sitting area in general, and beside his favorite chair there lay a basket stacked high with folded clothing. The shirt on top looked to be freshly mended where he had recently snagged the sleeve, causing a small tear. _

_ "Cozy," Arilan said as his blue-violet eyes took stock of the room as well, making his own assessment. "Smells like your dinner is nearly ready. I didn't realize you were a cook."_

_ "I'm not," Duncan admitted. "Or at least, that's not my cooking." He walked to the hearth, lifting the lid on a small kettle to peer inside. "Ah. You're in for a treat, Denis; she's made a wine-braised coney stew, I believe."_

_ "Who has?" Arilan walked over to join Duncan, looking over his shoulder in curiosity. "You have a personal chambermaid?"_

_ Duncan laughed. "No. Nothing so regular as all that. I suspect Catriona was bored again." He straightened, walked over to a nearby cabinet. "Can I offer you a drink, Denis?"_

_ "Dry stout, if you have it."_

_"I believe I do." He perused his stock, pulling aside a bottle or two in his search. _

_ A woman's voice called out from the adjoining chamber. "No, you're out. Alaric had the last of it, remember? I recommend the hard cider. It should complement the coney nicely." Catriona emerged from Duncan's bedchamber, a mended fighting tunic draped over her arm. "Hello, Denis."_

_ Denis Arilan nodded warily at the young woman. "Hello, sister of Shiele."_

_ Cat turned her attention to Duncan with a welcoming smile. "I've re-sewn the seam and reinforced the underarms on this tunic, so it should get you through another few sword practices, but the fabric is so worn, I don't think it will survive any subsequent tearing. If you'd like, though, if the fit of this one is still good, I can use it as a pattern to make you another." _

_ Duncan nodded. 'It's still a good fit. Thank you!"_

_ Arilan raised an eyebrow at his younger Church brother as the young woman folded the garment and placed it to one side on a small table beside Duncan's door to take with her later, but he said nothing. She continued on to the hearth, checking on the meal in the pot, then nodded in satisfaction. _

_ "All right, that should be quite ready at the top of the hour, and there's still enough of last night's bread to warm up for it, if you want to leave it to sit on the hearth for a few minutes. Not _too_ long, though, else you'll end up toasting it." She picked up the fighting tunic and her clarsach from where she'd set both down just inside his apartment door. "You've company, so I'll be off, but I've left some fresh-made altar candles dripping in the utility courtyard, so I'll be back sometime tomorrow to finish the fine-shaping and wick-trimming." She smiled at the men. "Goodnight, Duncan. Denis." Nodding courteously to the bishop, she opened the door and let herself out._

_Denis stared after her a long moment after she left. "Does she do this sort of thing for you often?" he finally asked, turning slowly to face Duncan with a raised eyebrow._

_ Duncan looked slightly abashed. "Well, it used to be more of an occasional thing. Lately, though, maybe once or twice a week..."_

_ "Once or twice a _week_?! Hell, Duncan, you might as well just ask to be dispensed of your vows so you can marry the chit; you're already enjoying the conveniences of marriage__—_"

_ "Not _all_ the conveniences, I assure you!" Duncan assured the Deryni bishop, his expression stormy. "_Never_ dishonor the lady by assuming so."_

_ Denis Arilan subsided slightly, though he still looked disapproving. "I hadn't meant to imply that, although I'm certainly glad to hear you've not taken that much advantage of her feelings for you, because I worry she'd not refuse you that either were you to press the matter. The woman's in love with you, and you with her, whether you want to admit to it or not." He sighed. "Duncan, even though I know you see little harm in allowing her to provide these little comforts for you, and certainly it must be nice to come home to the occasional meal or mended shirt, you really mustn't encourage the lass. Yes, I realize that she—and you—have done nothing technically wrong. Yes, I realize we're between hostilities with our neighbors at the moment, and Kelson has little for her to do besides report back on Court gossip, and she's probably the sort who likes to keep busy. I understand all that. But Duncan, pretending at marriage when you know that you're in no position to offer her that is just toying with the lass's heart. Not to mention it makes it more likely she'll continue postponing her own duty to her realm. The lass needs to _wed_, Duncan. The House of Llyr needs an heir. Maybe instead of biding her time here in Rhemuth, waiting for some conflict to break out again so Kelson can send her back out into service as The Kyle, the lass's time would be better occupied seeking out a husband. Which she will _not _be minded to do as long as you're the man she's trying to build a life around! What she is doing for you is certainly permissible, Duncan, but it is hardly very beneficial for either of you. Be mindful of Paul's first letter to the Corinthians."_

_Duncan sat back in his chair, his eyes closed, knowing there was truth in the older man's chastisement, also knowing that despite Arilan's blunt manner, the man offered an opinion which needed to be carefully considered._

_ "Just so you know, I've never in any way said or done anything to imply to Catriona that I expected any of this," Duncan said, gesturing around the room vaguely. "It just started out with a meal here, a shirt there, every now and again." He glanced over at his friend the bishop, shrugging slightly. "I don't know how or when it began to be more. But you're right; I do need to avoid encouraging her feelings...or mine."_

# # #

_ "I've both good news and bad," Catriona told Duncan the next morning, as she gave the altar candles a final dip in hot wax, then waited for them to cool slightly before rolling each waxen cylinder for a final shaping and polishing. The aroma of warm beeswax mingled with fragrant aromatic oils wafted up at him. _

_ "What sort of good news and bad?" Duncan asked. "And sweet Jesú, those candles smell heavenly!"_

_ "That _is_ rather the intent," she said, chuckling. "The scent is a mixture of two parts frankincense oil to one part myrrh, with one-fourth of a part of sandalwood oil and a small drop of cinnamon oil added to the mix as well, just to lend a hint of extra warmth. It's what we use to fragrance the altar candles in the Cathedral at Shiele." She smiled up at Duncan briefly, then bent to trim the woolen wick of each new candle so it would be the appropriate length for first lighting. "As for my news, the good news is that Kelson has found something for me to do besides roam about the castle listening to people gossip."_

_ "That _is_ good news," Duncan agreed, Arilan's censuring words still echoing in his head. "And the bad?"_

_ "There's growing unrest in Meara—beyond the usual, I mean—and if it can't be averted, it seems likely that Gwynedd will be faced with having to put down a rebellion again. I'm off to be Kelson's eyes and ears in Meara, so he'll know exactly what it is you'll be heading into, should the worst happen."_

_ Duncan nodded, hoping his worries for Catriona didn't show in his expression. "So you're to resume your guise as The Kyle once more?"_

_ "Well, I can hardly go gallivanting around Meara as the Lady of Llyr, now can I?" She grinned at Duncan. "Don't worry, though, _a chroi_. At worst I'll have Catrin of Meara to contend with, not Wencit of Torenth, and Catrin's cut out of a whole different cloth. Thanks be to God for that, at least! All right, we should leave these to bleach a bit more in the sunlight; they should come out a lovely white once they're ready for use. It's a cool enough day, they should be able to sit out for a while without risk of melting. And if you think they smell heavenly now, wait until you light one."_

_ She picked up her trimming shears, returning them to her workbasket, and turned to head back inside. Duncan took a swift look around to make sure they weren't being observed, then he drew Catriona into the shadow of the arched Basilica doorway. "Cat, we'd probably best stay down here instead, in the open." Standing so close to the young priest of Shiele, Duncan suddenly noticed that her hair shared the same warm fragrance that permeated the lower part of the courtyard. He felt his cheeks warm as he took a step back. "Jesú, Kitten, I could understand if it were just your hands, but you smell of altar candles all over! How long were you working with them yesterday?"_

_ She laughed. "Oh, I also use the fragrance to make scented bath soap. Working with it again yesterday reminded me that I still had some of the fragranced soap left over from the last time I made up a batch. No sense in saving it for special occasions." Cat reached up, stroked his cheek with a smile. "Would you like some? It's a soft soap, not hard bars, though I can make that sort as well..."_

_ The image of her slender hands caressing her supple body with the fragrant liquid, caressing his as well, slammed unbidden through his mind, and he inhaled sharply, forcing his gaze away from the woman before him in an attempt to banish it, forcing himself to think of something else—anything else!—besides how badly he wanted to take this woman back inside his apartment, throw back the sheets on the bed she'd made for him that morning while he was breaking his morning fast, and lose himself completely in her loving warmth. But he could not._

_Instead, he drew back slightly, though remaining in the shadow of the alcove, and said, "We'd best not go inside together. I'm under censure." Noting her alarmed look, he hastened to reassure her. "Nothing official, but..." He flushed. "Bishop Arilan had to take me to task last night."_

_ "Arilan? But…whatever for?" The green eyes stared up at him in confusion. _

_ "He reminded me that there are other ways a man might ill-use a woman that have nothing to do with taking advantage of her in a bedchamber, but which are hardly to her benefit all the same." He risked a quick link with Cat, sharing his memories of what Arilan had said to him the night before, but keeping his own tumultuous reactions to her words and touch carefully shielded._

_ After his brief sharing, Catriona broke away, her sea-eyes stormy, bright with unshed tears. "He had no right! Denis is wrong, he's just...he doesn't understand..." Her voice faltered as she looked into her anamchara's loving gaze, empathetic but resolute. "Oh, Jesú, Duncan, I only ever wanted to please you, to make you happy. It's the only way I have!" She closed her eyes, each damp-spiked lash piercing its way into Duncan's heart._

_ "Not so, Kitten. You please me in a thousand other ways, even without ever lifting a finger. But I think perhaps, if there's anything of good to the Mearan situation, it's the timing. Perhaps we need a little bit of distance between each other, at least until we can sort this out." _

_ Catriona composed herself, although she still couldn't bring herself to meet Duncan's gaze. "Have I damaged our friendship with my actions? Tell me I haven't lost that, at least."_

_ "No, never." He lifted her hand to his lips, bestowing a properly courtly kiss above it, but restraining himself from more. "We are still anamchairde together, come what may." He lifted a gently teasing brow at her. "That _is_ what I signed on for, isn't it?"_

_ She gave a reluctant laugh. "Aye, that it is. Not a wife, no matter how hard I tried to be one to you, in my own way."_

_ He nodded. "You would make a wonderful wife, Catriona, and I hope you shall be one someday. You just can't be mine." He squeezed her hand. "Go with God, then, and stay safe, my dearest of friends. You'll stop by to see me on your way from Rhemuth, even though you're not good with goodbyes?"_

_ "Nothing could stop me!"_

"That is how matters stood between us in those days, when we were both still struggling with how to deal with the growing attachment between us," my father said, "but that was before the war in Meara, and before she'd gotten to know you. After that, though, the relationship began to change. Slowly at first, in little ways, but as time went on, it became clear to both of us that while she was still quite attached to me, and me to her, she was beginning to develop quite strong feelings for you as well." He smiled. "And that those feelings were becoming far from sisterly."

_"See the lad over there, standing next to Kelson?" _

_ Catriona, newly returned to Rhemuth and still wearing her guise as Kyle of Shiele, turned her head slightly to regard the two young men laughing together at the edge of the archery field. "The coppery-haired lad? Aye."_

_ Duncan's cheeks colored slightly, although his blue eyes shone with pride as he gazed across the field at the two young men some distance away. "He's my son. Maryse's child by me. I only found out about him last month, right before Kelson's wedding."_

_ Cat turned her startled gaze back to his face. "Truly?" She stared at Kelson's friend again, this time taking a closer look. "But…." She glanced back at Duncan, confused. "Isn't that the page from Transha who used to play with Kelson when Brion was still King?"_

_ He nodded. "The same. His name is Dhugal. Dhugal Ardry MacArdry..." Duncan beamed and added "...McLain. Until recently, we both believed him to be Cauley MacArdry's son and Maryse's youngest brother, born just days before her death, but as it turns out, he's actually Maryse's child. Cauley's wife was also brought to bed with child around that same time, and she raised Dhugal as brother to her own so that when Cauley returned home to Transha, he would never know Dhugal was Maryse's baby. I don't think Cauley ever knew about my secret marriage with his daughter, although Maryse must have confided it to her mother at some point, since she left Dhugal a brooch I'd given her as a love token on our wedding night. That was how I recognized who Dhugal was, for he wore that brooch to Kelson's wedding."_

_ Catriona looked back at Dhugal in wonder, shaking her head slowly. "What a mysterious God we serve! After all these years, to find out you're a father." She grinned. "Which gives a whole new meaning to 'Father Duncan,' now doesn't it?" _

_"It certainly does, although we've not made that common knowledge yet. We're still trying to work out how to prove the legitimacy of his birth without having to reveal to the episcopate that I'm Deryni by sharing my memories outright, which could prove problematic. Not that his inheritance of Transha is in any jeopardy, for the border lords choose their heirs by tanistry, not right of birth, but I'd like to pass Cassan and Kierney on to him someday as well. He's the only heir of my body I'll ever have, after all, and if he can't inherit after me, the succession will have to go to far more distant kin, which is a complication I'd rather not hand over to Kelson upon my eventual death."_

_ "Well, that's it, then. I'll just tell Kelson I'm not going to do any more scouting in Meara for him!" Cat teased. "I go off for a few months, and come back to discover you've gone and fathered a son on me!" Her face crimsoned as she realized what she'd just said. "Well, not on _me_..."_

_ The young priest roared with laughter. "No, heart, I'm fairly sure I'd know about that, and I'd certainly hope _you_ would." He was still chuckling when the two lads approached them. _

_"Welcome back to Rhemuth," King Kelson greeted his scout. "Dhugal, I'd like you to meet Kyle of Shiele, who's just come back from bringing me news from Meara. Kyle, this is my blood brother, Earl Dhugal MacArdry of Transha," he continued, a silent warning directed at Duncan in his gray Haldane eyes. "Dhugal, I'd like for you and Kyle to work together in the map room later tonight, and you also, Duncan, since I intend to send your Cassani troops in separately when we march on Meara once the snows thaw. Kyle, you can bring them up to speed on what you've discovered about Sicard's movements in the area, and the two of you can share your greater knowledge of the northern lands flanking Meara with Kyle, which will aid in his efforts on our behalf."_

_ "How soon am I riding back out, Sire?" The Kyle asked._

_ "Once the weather clears enough for you to head back through the mountain passes again," Kelson said. "I know it's a bad time of year to be sending you forth, but we need whatever information you can gather for us before we ride out this summer to engage Sicard's and Ithil's forces again."_

_ The Kyle nodded matter-of-factly. "I shall look forward to getting better acquainted with the Earl of Transha later this evening, then. What time, Sire?"_

_ "After Vespers, if that will work for the two of you," Kelson said with a glance at both Dhugal and Duncan, who both nodded their assent. The King and his blood brother took their leave of the two priests then, the border earl casting one last grin over his shoulder at his father before continuing on, deep in conversation with Kelson._

_ "He's a bonny lad," said Cat/The Kyle, smiling. "I can't say he looks all that much like you at first glance, with that flaming hair and those freckles, but he's got something of you in his features and his step, and there's also a certain...vitality of presence?...that you both share." A quick grin. "Though it's somewhat more mellow in you. That much energy is only for the young."_

_ Duncan chuckled. "And you're speaking from your advanced old age, I suppose?"_

_ Cat laughed. "I'm twenty-and-one now, anamchara! And your lad would be, what, fourteen?"_

_ "Fifteen. He'll reach his sixteenth year in early January."_

_ "Fifteen. And you were just fifteen yourself when you fathered him, were you not? You're getting to be an old man, Duncan McLain, long in the tooth. We'll probably have to put you down soon, like a used up old warhorse..."_

_ She teased Duncan mercilessly the whole way back to the Basilica._

# # #

_ "Well, good evening, good of you to show up...finally...," Duncan joked as his anamchara joined him in the Rhemuth Castle library. "I'd ask what kept you, but you smell of horse." He grinned as she smacked him lightly on the back of the head with the book she held. _

_ "Yes, I've been out riding—with Dhugal, actually—and it took us a bit longer to get back than I'd anticipated." Her cheeks turned slightly pink as she found a chair across the table from Duncan. "Your son's an accomplished rider, though I suppose that's no surprise, him being both a borderman and Deryni. Quite the horse-whisperer, that one."_

_ Duncan had noticed the growing closeness between his son and his anamchara after their return from the Mearan campaign and the revelation of Catriona's secret during their healing of his injuries. He was glad of the growing friendship between them, also glad he no longer had to keep the secret of The Kyle from his son, yet seeing their relationship flourish caused an occasional twinge in Duncan. He wondered if it was truly just friendship between them, or if their bond had started to blossom into something more. Not that he'd noticed Catriona looking at his son with more than sisterly affection yet, but at times he'd seen Dhugal regarding her with an intensity in his amber gaze that struck Duncan's watchful eye as far from brotherly._

_ Ah well. The relationship between them would develop as it would, and Duncan would make no move to interfere. There was little question that the Lady of Llyr would be an acceptable match for a young border Duke—if anything, it was Dhugal who would be aspiring high. If only Duncan could discipline his wayward heart to accept the match with good grace._

_ Then again, it was still premature to consider the matter settled. It was possible he was reading far too much into their friendship._

_ "So, what are you reading?" Duncan asked his anamchara._

_ She blushed. "Poetry."_

_ He tilted the spine of the book up to peer at the title, then raised a brow at her. "Omar al-Sadr of Nur Hallaj... Didn't he write Deryni love poetry?"_

_"Mmhmm. Just a little light reading."_

_ He grinned. "Right. I've read al-Sadr, years ago. It's quite lovely verse, but rather on the...erotically informative side, isn't it?" He suppressed a chuckle as Cat turned scarlet. "Whoever suspected that Deryni rapport could have such interesting applications?"_

_ "All right, fine!" She closed the book and returned it to the shelf as Duncan laughed, grabbing another tome instead. "Orin's Protocols it is, then!"_

_ "Oh, I see; dabbling in the darker esoteric arts now, are we? Trading one form of highly charged and potentially non-beneficial learning for another?"_

_"Duncan McLain, if you Do. Not. Shut. Up, I shall lob this book at your head!"_

_ His laughter rang through the passage beyond the library door._

# # #

_ Duncan knocked on his son's apartment door. A squire answered, blinking sleepily at the visitor._

_ "I'm sorry; I didn't mean to wake you. Earl Dhugal hasn't retired for the evening yet, has he?"_

_ "Nay, Your Excellency," the squire replied, calling Duncan by his ecclesiastical title. "I believe he's still up on the watch tower. The east tower, at the end of the corridor." The lad grinned. "He said something about taking the ladies up to look at the stars, and not to wait up."_

_ Duncan raised an eyebrow. "The ladies?"_

_ The younger man laughed. "Yes, m'lord. There were two of them, though I think one was only along to chaperone the other."_

_ "I see. Well, I suppose that _ought_ to be a relief, if I didn't know my son so well." Duncan grinned. "Good night, then."_

_ The squire laughed again. "Good night, Your Excellency."_

_ Duncan made his way to the tower, climbing the circular flight of stone steps up to the top. A door at the top landing opened out onto the castle wall. Duncan opened the door and stepped out, only to find young Lady Mhairi sitting against a parapet wall directly in front of the exit, sound asleep._

_ Soft laughter sounded from around a corner. _

_ "That's not Orion!"_

_ "Aye, it is! See him standin' there, right beside Canis Minor and Canis Major, facin' down Taurus th' Bull. C'mon, Cat, surely ye can see him; ye're practically starin' up his kilt!"_

_ Duncan peered around the corner in time to see Cat step slightly to one side. "Oh, wait…you're right, that _is_ Orion! I didn't see that third star in his belt; your thick head was in the way."_

_ "Was it now?" The border earl grinned down at Cat, taking a step closer. "I could move it even closer if ye'd like."_

_ She laughed, playfully swatting him away. "You're incorrigible, Dhugal. We came up here to look at the stars, I thought."_

_ "Aye. I _am_ lookin' at th' stars. Just no' the same ones ye're lookin' at." The young earl gazed down into his companion's eyes. With a start of surprise, Duncan realized his son had grown a great deal over the previous year. At midsummer, when Dhugal had first met Catriona in her true form, they were equally matched for height, but in the scant handful of months since then Dhugal had attained yet another handspan of growth, even though it was now only the middle of autumn. Soon he'd be Alaric's equal in measure, if this kept up._

_ Catriona trailed a fingertip along the back of one of Dhugal's hands, pushing his tunic sleeve up slightly to continue its journey beyond his wrist. "Oh look, here's a new constellation!"_

_ Dhugal laughed as he saw what she was referring to. "Aye, I freckle in th' summer sun. They've nae had time tae fade yet, no' that they ever fully do."_

_ "I think we'll call that one 'Dominus Equi,'" she teased. "See the young horse-lord standing proudly before us! Here's his helm, and his hand on the reins…." The finger traced the outlines she saw, and Dhugal grinned._

_ "Somethin' else is goin' tae be standin' proudly afore ye if ye dinnae stop tha', an' then th' Lady o' Llyr is likely tae find herself invaded by th' Earl o' Transha!"_

_ She chuckled and withdrew her hand, folding her fingers in front of her skirts demurely. "Then I shall heed your warning, my lord, for Llyr never cedes her sovereignty."_

_ "I cannae invade Llyr then? Well, tha's nae fun. Mayhap th' lady might consider a small surrender? A mere beachhead, perhaps?" He favored her with a mock leer as he leaned towards her to steal a kiss, making her laugh._

_ Duncan shook his head with an amused sigh, fighting down a twinge of—not quite jealousy… Envy, then? Regret?—and trying to recall what sort of flirtations he'd used in his courtship of Maryse those many years ago. Whatever they'd been, he was quite certain he'd not been nearly as well practiced in the art as his son evidently was._

_ He knelt by Mhairi's side, extending a hand to her forehead to search out the sleep controls he was quite sure Dhugal had set on Cat's young chaperone. Ah, yes...there! "Mhairi," he whispered in her ear, "in a few moments you will awaken from your nap and rejoin your lady and Earl Dhugal. You will not remember that I was up here, nor will you remember anything of this moment save that you were hit with a sudden wave of sleepiness and happened to doze off while sitting up here looking up at the stars. Once you awaken, you'll go and rejoin your lady, and stay well out of arm's reach of the Earl, but as unobtrusively as you can manage. Do you understand?"_

_ "Aye, m'lord."_

_ "Good girl. Now, count backwards from ten, and once you've reached one, you may wake up."_

_ "Aye, m'lord. Ten...nine...eight...seven..."_

_ With a final glance at the embracing couple outlined against the starry sky, Duncan slipped back into the watch tower. Transha might well conquer Llyr someday, but it would not be that evening._

"Ye saw tha', did ye?" I asked my father, laughing. "I thought I heard someone at th' tower door tha' night, but when Lady Mhairi came 'round th' corner, I figured it was just her wakin' too soon."

"Or maybe not quite soon enough, from what I saw." He arched an eyebrow at me in mild reproof. "'Something else is going to be standing proudly if you don't stop that'? Really, Dhugal, is that any way to speak to a lady? Must I remind you that Catriona is the daughter of queens, and not just some randy tavern wench?" An amused glint in his blue eyes belied his stern expression.

"Aye, ye're right. I should hae just let 'er continue on wi' tha', an' th' devil tak' th' consequences, though I'll have tae defer tae yer greater knowledge o' randy tavern wenches…." I laughed and ducked to dodge the tapestry pillow he threw at me.

"By that time, I knew you had become firmly lodged in Catriona's heart," Duncan continued on, steadfastly ignoring my jest. "But I don't know if she realized the full extent of her love for you yet, until you and Kelson went missing during your quest for Saint Camber's relics, and we both thought we had lost you."

_ Catriona sat, stone-faced, as Duncan slowly sat in the window embrasure beside her, taking one of her hands gently in his as he broke the news to her of the loss of both his King and his son. _

_"They searched the river for days, but no trace has been found yet, nor of Kelson's remains either. The river goes underground at the falls, so it's likely the bodies will never be recovered. If there _are _bodies to recover. I mean to go search for myself once I've brought Alaric the news, if Nigel is able to spare me once we've invested him with the Haldane powers. As long as there's still hope of finding either of them alive..."_

_"Ciard and the other Transha men are still looking?" Cat whispered, not looking up from the hand in Duncan's grip. Her face was ashen, her eyes the dark color of sea storms._

_ Duncan nodded._

_"He _can't_ be gone, Duncan! Surely I would've felt it..._you_ would've felt it!"_

_Duncan squeezed Cat's hand. "I feel the same way—that's why I have to go myself. With Alaric, if Nigel will permit it." A long pause. "Will you come?"_

_ She looked up at him then, the unshed tears finally spilling over onto her pale cheeks. "I was going to offer for him, Duncan! I was just waiting for him to finish growing up. I know he's a man grown in the world's eyes, but he's still _so_ young..." Her voice trembled, and she subsided, unable to go on._

_ Her anamchara enfolded her in his arms, knowing it was his son she referred to, not the young King, although Kelson Haldane had held a special place in her heart as well. But it was Dhugal that she grieved for at this moment, even as he grieved for a son he'd only known for far too short a while._

_ "I would have been honored to give you my blessing, if Kelson gave his permission to the match," he told her, kissing her hair softly. "Perhaps there's yet hope of finding him."_

_ She nodded, though there was no light of hope in her eyes or in her voice. "Aye, mayhap." She considered his earlier question. "I shall go with you if you need me to, for I would walk all paths with you, _a chara_, no matter how painful the journey. Though if you can spare me, I think I should prefer to remain behind and pray for your safety and Alaric's, walking beside you in that way instead. For if you _were_ to find them—" She dashed a quick hand over her face, wiping away the tears and composing herself as befitted a warrior-queen of Shiele. "I would rejoice with you if you found them yet living, but if not..." She closed her eyes. "I can't bear to think of him lying still, much less risk seeing it. I prefer to remember him as I saw him last, with vibrant life in his eyes and springtime in his every movement." _

I blinked away the sudden moisture in my eyes. "If she meant tae offer for me, then why did she leave once ye found us an' we returned tae Rhemuth? I've been through every explanation I can think of in my mind, and I cannae fathom it fully even now. If it were fear o' th' marriage bed, or even just fear o' beddin' down wi' a man wi' ginger hair like Wencit's, I could mayhap see tha', but tha' doesnae seem tae be th' case. If she were still so in love wi' you tha' there wasnae room in her heart for me as well, then I'd have tae accept tha' as well, but I dinnae think that's it either. If it's just that she thinks me too young tae wed wi' her yet, well, she could hae at least _told_ me tha'! I'd hae been willin' tae wait for her, surely she'd know that. An' if she'd asked Kelson for me and he'd refused her suit, I'm sure he'd hae said somethin' o' th' matter tae me. Th' more answers I get about Catriona, the less I feel I truly understand 'er."

My sire gave me a sympathetic smile. "Welcome to women."

"I'm serious!"

"And so am I. But this, I hope, will help you understand her choice. And as I told you when we started, I believe she _does_ intend to return for you. But she needed more time."

Duncan shared with me his final memory of Catriona, on that late summer's day two years earlier in Coroth when she had met with him to tell him of her plans to study with the Servants of Saint Camber, before her last goodbye to me.

_"I've told the Princess Rothana I will accompany her to St. Kyriell's after her son is born. It's an unheard of opportunity for us to study what they've preserved of Saint Camber's memory and more ancient practices of Deryni lore."_

_ Duncan nodded. "I can't disagree there. But what of Dhugal?"_

_ Cat looked away, swallowing hard. "He's young yet."_

_ "Yes, he is. But he's a man grown, and you told me just a few months ago that you meant to offer for him. He's not simply the Earl of Transha anymore, he's a Duke and an Earl twice over. He needs to secure his line with an heir, just as you need to secure yours." His voice gentled. "Especially now that we've seen how truly ephemeral life is. You have a second chance at making a life with my son. Don't waste that chance, anamchara."_

_ "Oh, Duncan, don't make this any more difficult for me than it is! I can hardly bear to leave him as it is, but I must."_

_ Duncan leaned back in his chair, studying his friend. She refused to meet his eyes, staring out a window instead, one overlooking the sea. _

_ "And why is that? Help me understand, Catriona."_

_ A long silence. "I have to know," she said at last. "I have to be certain in my own heart that when I offer for your son, I do so for the right reasons." She turned to him then, her eyes filled with pain, but her carriage showing all the pride and purpose of the queens of Shiele before her. "I cannot simply offer for Dhugal because I long for a man in my bed and children around my hearth. Nor can I offer for him just because he is _your_ son, and because I have loved you dearly ever since I was a maiden the same age your son is now. Nor can I offer for Dhugal out of mere expediency, because he needs heirs of his blood, although I truly do understand your longing in that regard and his own. Or even because Dhugal and I are both Deryni, and in producing heirs, we would be continuing our heritage."_

_ She looked out the window again, one finger tracing the diamond shaped bars which divided the panes of glass. "If I should wed with Dhugal, it shall be to follow my heart, first and foremost. But in order to do so, I shall have to give up my birthright. Or rather, the birthright of my firstborn son, and his firstborn sister's son after him. I believe Michael will allow it; after all, it's his son Corin who stands to inherit from me, and Michael is still young enough to wed again and produce daughters to secure his line. And if I cede my right to the Llyrian succession, then Kelson is far more likely to accept my offer for Dhugal. For the last thing Kelson needs is for one of his most powerful Dukes to be wed to a woman whose first loyalty—though she loves the House of Haldane well—is foremost to another nation's Lord, and whose firstborn son shall be sovereign of that nation someday. The future Duke of Cassan and Earl of Kierney and Transha cannot be the same man as the future High Lord of Llyr! But if I am to choose between being Dhugal's Duchess and being the mother of the future High Lord of Llyr, I _must_ know I do so for the right reasons."_

_ "I'm not sure I understand. Llyr's royal succession runs through your line, not Michael's?"_

_ Catriona nodded. "Llyr is not matriarchal, but we _are _matrilineal. My brother Michael is the High Lord of Llyr, but the inheritance does not pass from him to his son Corin. It passes from Michael to his sister's son, and since I am his only living sister, that means it shall be my eldest son who will be his heir someday, at least as matters stand currently. And my eldest daughter's son who will inherit after _him_, once my own son has passed from this life." The Lady of Llyr turned to face her anamchara. "If, after I've searched my heart fully, I know for certain that I offer for your son for the right reasons, then shall I give up my birthright gladly, and bear heirs for your Cassan and Kierney, as well as for Transha and my father's small islands off your Cassani coast, knowing full well that the heirs of my body will no longer be Deryni of Llyr, but instead Deryni born fully in service to your Haldane King and to the Kingdom of Gwynedd. Things have changed enough in Gwynedd now that the prospect of raising young Deryni in this kingdom no longer fills me with dread, as it once might have. But I _must_ know, Duncan! I hope you can see that."_

_ He nodded. "Will you tell Dhugal your reasons, when you tell him that you're leaving?"_

_ She turned to look out the window again, leaning her forehead against the glass. "I dare not. I fear he will try to talk me out of going, will try to persuade me to listen to the yearnings of my flesh rather than the cooler reasonings of my mind in this." A fleeting smile. "Dhugal can be most persuasive. You've _no_ idea how often Cassan has tried to conquer Llyr." She straightened, faced Duncan once more. "You told me once, if I was not free to offer an attachment to someone, it is sometimes best to make a clean break, painful though it might be."_

_ "Yes, I did. But I never said you couldn't explain your reasons, especially if your feelings are shared by the other, and I've every reason to believe that they are."_

_ She looked back out the window then, silent for a long while. Then, "He is too much his father's son, I'm afraid. He would never seek to hurt me or mine, even if that meant stepping back from his heart's desire. If Dhugal knew that I had to make a choice between him and Llyr, would he allow me to make that choice? Or would he step back, thinking he does me a greater good in not allowing me to give up my children's kingdom for his sake?"_

_ Duncan understood her mind at last. "That, I don't know."_

I sat stunned once my father had finished his sharing. "I ask too much, to expect her to give up so much for me."

"On the contrary, son. You expect too little, if you believe that she would not. Trust me in this, for I know the heart of my anamchara. She will offer for you when she returns. For if her heart is as full of you as I believe it to be, she can do no other."


	7. Catriona's Story & Epilogue

**Part II—Catriona's Story**

The Year of Our Lord 1128

Christmas Court, Rhemuth

Rhemuth had not changed much in the years of my absence. I felt far more greatly changed than Kelson's great jewel of a city, much more at peace with myself than I had been those three years past when I rode away from the two I loved most, afraid to look back for fear of my own weakness, for fear I would change my mind about doing what had to be done. Taking the hard path, though I liked it not, for it seemed ever my destiny to take the more difficult road.

My horse snorted, his breath sending a plume of warm steam into the cold winter air. I pulled my cloak closer around me, looking forward to reaching the Castle, and to the comforts of a warm hearth and warm bed after long days of travel. Rothana and the Servants would be expecting me, for I had sent a message on ahead to Kelson's new Deryni Schola asking for them to prepare for my arrival, although there was one other stop I wished to make along the way to that rest, for my heart longed to see my anamchara.

My heart longed for another as well, though duty required that I seek audience with another man before I sought him out. The man who could give me leave to offer my love to his heart's brother, or deny me my longing for reasons of his own, for reasons of state.

I did not travel alone. Beside me rode two kinsmen, brother and nephew, for the High Lord of Llyr also had a boon to request of our ally the Haldane King.

Young Corin's eyes sparkled at his first sight of Kelson's capital. "It's much bigger than Shiele, isn't it, father?" At nearly eleven years, he'd traveled with my brother throughout the Isle of Llyr, but had never ventured outside our kingdom until this journey through Gwynedd to Kelson's Court.

Michael smiled at his young son. "Aye, that it is. I remember how daunting Rhemuth seemed to me, when I was a young page fostered here. I thought for certain I'd be lost among the winding streets if ever I ventured out of the castle."

"Did you ever?" Corin asked, turning wide eyes up at his father. "Get lost, I mean?"

My brother smiled. "Once or twice. Though I found my way back out again, obviously, since it's been many a year since I found myself wandering through the back alleys of Rhemuth trying to get back to the Castle."

I snorted, amused. "You had only to look up, Michael _a deartháir_. It's not like you can miss that great hulk of a building on the skyline."

Corin laughed, his green eyes sparkling as he touched his heels lightly to his pony's flanks, spurring the mount slightly ahead in his impatience to reach our destination.

"Do you know where you're going, brother's son?" I asked him.

"That great hulk of a building up ahead?" he threw back over his shoulder.

."Close. You'll see Rhemuth Castle soon enough, I promise. But first, the Basilica at St. Hilary's."

#

We went first not to the Schola itself, but to the study of the Auxiliary Bishop of Rhemuth. As the door opened to my knock, Duncan McLain peered out, his eyes of summer sky lighting up as he recognized who stood before him.

"Anamchara!" he exclaimed with a joyous laugh, enfolding me in his warm embrace, heedless of who observed us. I closed my eyes as I drew him close, breathing in the odd, familiar mixture of polished leather, church incense, parchment and sunshine that I ever associated with this man who was my first love. My eyes turned slightly moist, and I blinked back the sudden tears, pulling back slightly to smile up at him.

"Now I feel like I've come home at last," I said.

Behind him, I suddenly noticed Denis Arilan, his eyes cautiously observant, although he, too, greeted me with a welcoming smile, if not one touched with as much warmth as my anamchara's. I pulled away from Duncan and smiled at the older bishop, unable to resist needling him. "Hello, handsome." Arilan looked nonplussed, which was my intent. I caught Duncan's eye, hiding my grin, although an answering twinkle in his eyes assured me he was well aware of what I was up to and that I would most certainly hear about from him later.

"You will remember my brother Michael, I am sure. I would like to present my nephew Corin, who is hoping to follow in his father's footsteps, learning how to serve as page and squire under Duke Nigel's training, if Kelson is willing to accept the lad into his service."

Duncan bowed a formal greeting to my brother the High Lord first, then smiled down at my brother's son. "Well met, Corin of Llyr," he said. Looking back at me, he raised an eyebrow. "Does this mean...?" He left the question unspoken, but we both knew his meaning.

"Does your son still think fondly of me, my anamchara? Or has he found some other in my absence? I must know before I go before your King, for there is little point in asking if I might freely offer for him if he is no longer minded to accept my suit."

"Dhugal has waited in hopes of your return. You might have written, Catriona." His voice was gently reproving.

"I needed the time, _a chara_."

We left it at that, me ever mindful of Arilan's eyes upon us, watching with avid interest.

#

We left Duncan's study, walking the short distance to the dormitory attached to the new Schola. Rothana of Nur Hallaj greeted us there, murmuring a courteous welcome to my kinsmen as she walked with us to the refectory. We dined at last, allowing the hot meal and the warmth of the hall to ease the chill that had permeated us throughout on the long days' ride into Rhemuth.

"How fares the King of Gwynedd?" I asked my spiritual sister cautiously, not wishing to reopen old scars, yet needing to know more recent news of Kelson Haldane than those odd bits and pieces that had managed to reach my ears in the hidden vale of St. Kyriell, so cut off from the rest of his kingdom. To my relief, my inquiry brought no flash of pain into her eyes anymore. Instead, a quietly joyous light filled her features as she answered me.

"Kelson does quite well. I do believe he has found contentment and even happiness in his new Queen." Her smile grew. "I had hoped he would. I would not have chosen her for him if I did not believe them well suited for each other, but still...hearts can be such awkward and rebellious things." A sparkle of understanding humor lit her dark eyes, for well she knew of my own struggles of the heart, as I had learned of hers. The friendship formed between us over the three years spent together learning the secrets of St. Kyriell's had forged such an understanding, and I had benefited richly from Rothana's wisdom and counsel.

"Her name is Araxie, is it not? One of his distant Haldane cousins?"

"Yes, out of Duke Richard's line. Her grandfather was Kelson's great-grandfather. Duke Richard waited until his later years to wed and get heiresses."

"I had hoped to be back in Rhemuth sooner, in time for their wedding and the Queen's Coronation, but I had family matters to attend to first." I glanced down the table at young Corin.

Rothana nodded. "I am certain, under the circumstances, that Kelson will be quite understanding of your absence from that special day." The young nun grinned conspiratorially at me. "After all, you had your own to prepare for as well. How goes _that_ matter?"

I stood, handing my empty plate to one of the Servants of Saint Camber who stood nearby waiting to clean up after our repast, nodding my silent thanks to him. "I know not yet, but I go now to find out if Kelson is minded to allow me to pursue it. Pray for me, sister?"

"Of course, with all my heart!"

#

I left my kinsmen then, slipping off into the growing dusk to make my way to the long-familiar corridors of Rhemuth Castle. The Great Hall was empty, for there was no Court business so late that day, nor was there any feast or revel scheduled for that evening. I inquired of a young squire in Haldane livery where I might find the King that evening, and if I might be presented to him for a brief informal visit, as I was an old friend newly returned to Rhemuth. He went to inquire, leading me to a small antechamber outside of Kelson's private apartments. I sat, expecting that the squire would return in a few minutes to usher me in to the royal presence.

Instead, the door to Kelson's apartment opened, and another man came out—a tall man, his bright Border-braided locks containing the mingled highlights and shadows of the weather-burnished roof of that building I'd just left, with its fiery coppers shading to deeper bronze. His amber eyes swept the room, their powerful gaze coming to rest on my face, that gaze containing the potent energy of the shiral stones their color suggested. His lean, sleek-muscled form was relaxed, yet spoke of leashed power. This was no mere youth who looked back at me, but a man grown into his full strength and Deryni potential.

I had not expected to see Dhugal yet, not before I'd spoken to his blood-brother.

I stood slowly, unable to tear my eyes from the man my heart had yearned for these three years gone, so familiar and yet so very different now. "Good evening, Dhugal. I had not expected to see you until the morrow." I smiled at him, my heart tremulous. "You've grown."

He stepped across the small chamber to face me directly, standing just beyond arm's reach. "Aye, I s'pose I have at tha'. It's been three years, Cat; a man _does _change." He reached slowly to take one of my hands, his amber gaze searching my face. "Ye've changed as well." A faint smile lurked at one corner of his mouth. "Ye're softer lookin' now, more womanly. I dinnae s'pose ye've had as much time tae keep up yer sword trainin' in St Kyriell's."

A soft laugh. "Not much time, no." My eyes searched his face, looking for any hints that I was welcome back into his heart after such a long absence. His features had lost their boyish softness, their masculine planes and angles newly accentuated by a closely-cropped beard. As I studied him, I noticed his open appraisal of me as well, and blushed, suddenly shy.

"I would've been back sooner," I told him, "but there was a family matter which called me back to Llyr for a time."

He nodded, but did not ask.

I gathered up my courage. "I hope I am still welcome to your brother's Court, and to the King's heart-brother as well."

The faint smile grew. "I cannae speak for Kelson, o' course, but I've nae reason tae think the Lady o' Llyr is any less dear tae him than ever ye were. As for myself…." He lifted his free hand, the one not already holding one of mine, and softly traced my cheek. "Ye tak' too bluidy long tae make up yer mind, Catriona, but I s'pose if I'm tae love a woman, I need tae get used tae her imperfections." His amber eyes crinkled at me as I gaped at him, nonplussed, and then he drew me close, smothering my faint protests with a kiss that began with a tenderness that soon yielded to a growing urgency, until I forgot that I had anything to protest at all.

#

I stood in the King's presence. His gray Haldane eyes warmed as he saw me, and he rose from his chair, clasping me in a swift embrace, then turned to present me to his Queen.

"Araxie, this is Catriona, the Lady of Llyr and Kyle of Shiele."

Kelson's golden-haired Queen smiled her welcome at me, her own Haldane gaze, so uncanny a reflection of Kelson's own, surveying me with frank curiosity. "Welcome back to Rhemuth, our sister of Llyr," she said. "I've long wished to meet you." She grinned at her husband. "Kelson's memories of you are a trifle confusing. Is it true you can assume a young man's form at will?"

I laughed, slipping the illusory form of The Kyle over myself for a brief moment with the ease of long years of practice, although it had been several years since I'd last worn this guise. The Kyle bowed towards the Queen of Gwynedd. "At your service, Majesty!"

Araxie chuckled. "Oh my, that _is_ convincing! Knowing how it's done, I can manage to see through the illusion, but it takes considerable effort. So, is it The Kyle of Shiele or Catriona of Llyr who comes before us to request a boon?"

I stared at Kelson's new Queen, startled. "How do you know that's why I've come, Your Majesty?"

Kelson glanced down quickly with a stifled grin, then gave his wife a sidelong glance of amusement.

"Well, I don't for certain," Araxie admitted. "but there's one favor that Kelson and I are very much hoping you have returned to our Court to ask for."

With renewed hope, I dropped to one knee before the King and Queen of Gwynedd. "I shall wait until tomorrow's Court to make my formal petition, for as Kelson _mo bratháir_ already knows, I have other business before the Court of Gwynedd as well. But there is a private matter of the heart for which I seek your counsel and favor this evening. If it please Your Majesties, I wish to make formal offer tomorrow for your Duke of Cassan in marriage. I know full well what impediments lay between us in such a match, and what concerns you might have in giving your most powerful Border Duke to the inheratrix of Llyr. With that in mind, I would willingly cede all birthright to Llyr to my brother's son Corin and to his future daughters in perpetuity, that I might be free to wed where my heart wills and be Dhugal MacArdry's wife, to stand at his side wherever his paths may lead. Will this be acceptable before my brother—and sister—of Gwynedd?"

Kelson stood, offering his hand to me to help me rise. "Under those terms, it is not only acceptable, but also one of my heart's deepest desires." He shared a smile with his Queen. "Dhugal has been too long alone, and I would have him know the same joys I have found in my Araxie."

#

The following day, the chamberlain called us forth into Royal Court, into the presence of Their Majesties Kelson and Araxie of Gwynedd. I stepped forward as The Lady of Llyr, my kinsmen walking on either side of me as we crossed the length of the Great Hall of Rhemuth to stand before Kelson's throne.

As we had agreed upon beforehand, my brother presented his petition first, asking that Kelson allow his son Corin to be fostered with the House of Haldane, to be trained in service under Duke Nigel until he attained the age of knighthood, as his father had been allowed to do before him. The Haldane King gladly agreed to this renewal of our long-standing alliance with his House, and after accepting Corin's oath to serve the House of Haldane as faithfully and as fully as may be required of a princeling whose fealty to his own sovereign and lands must precede the bonds of any other vow, he motioned my brother's son over to stand with Duke Nigel. I smiled proudly at the lad, now heir to all that my own firstborn son would have stood to inherit, were it not for the request that I had come now to make before Gwynedd's King.

His business with the Court of Gwynedd concluded, the High Lord of Llyr stepped back, smiling at me. I took a step forward and made a reverent curtsey towards Gwynedd's liegelord.

"My brother of Gwynedd, I request a boon!"

"I would hear your boon, my sister of Llyr, and grant it gladly, if it be just and in my power to give."

"Then I would ask but one thing of Your Majesty of Gwynedd, that I might be granted the freedom to offer my hand in marriage to one of your most loyal subjects. I realize the impediments that may lie in such a match between a subject of Gwynedd and the Lady of Llyr, and to that end I have been granted leave by the High Lord of Llyr to cede my birthright to my brother's son instead, and to give my full fealty to the Haldane King from henceforth, and the heirs of my body into Gwynedd's service."

A surprised murmur started up in the gathered audience behind me, but I kept my gaze forward, fixed on Kelson's face. The King of Gwynedd smiled broadly.

"I would gladly grant this boon, for I perceive this to be a love of the heart, and I would not stand in the way of a sister's happiness." He chuckled. "Nor of a brother's," he added softly, with an upward glance at Dhugal, who stood at his right and slightly behind the thrones. "But speak plainly now, Lady Catriona," he said more loudly, his voice pitched this time to carry throughout the Great Hall, "and say what man it is you would cede your birthright to have of me."

I dared now to look at my beloved full in his face, my heart in my throat, a sudden worry briefly making me falter, for it had just occurred to me that while I had informed Kelson of my intention the evening before, I had not actually asked Dhugal if he was still minded to marry me, but had merely assumed this from the passion of his parting embrace before he took his leave of me in the Royal chambers. His amber eyes held mine, and then he smiled, the easy grin that had captured my heart those many years ago.

I looked back at Kelson with head held high, my courage renewed. "I choose Dhugal Ardry MacArdry McLain, Duke of Cassan and Earl of Kierney and Transha, and High Lord of my heart, to walk all paths with me, and I with him, for all our days."

#

The day had arrived, bright and fair.

Our guests arrived, crowding into the small solar of my personal apartment in Rhemuth Castle. The aroma of Llyrian herbed bread baking on the hearth welcomed them as they arrived. Lady Mhairi greeted all who entered, taking cloaks and bidding them be seated for the wedding meal to come. Alaric and Richenda, Kelson and Araxie, Rothana of Nur Hallaj, my brother and his son as well.

Dhugal arrived, and Duncan with him, laughter still on their lips as they entered last, handing their cloaks to my lady-in-waiting as they did so. "I am told that I may safely offer the bride my finest mead," Duncan announced with a grin, "without having to make awkward explanations to my Archbishop afterwards."

I laughed. "Aye, _mead_ I may have at your hand, but the best wine that House McLain can offer had best come from your son instead. And at least you brought me no ale." I looked past him at Dhugal, who hefted a ceremonial drinking horn and a sealed bottle.

"It's Fianna wine, from Kelson's own cellar." He exchanged a grin with his blood brother.

"Ah." I gave both men a mischievous smile. "Well, Kelson Haldane is certainly a most handsome and puissant prince, but I believe he's already spoken for."

"Quite," the King confirmed with a tender glance at his own bride. "Which is why Dhugal specifically chose a vessel from Transha to serve it in."

A quick check confirmed that the bread had finished baking. I removed the pan from the hearth, cutting a slice of bread and setting it on a separate plate to cool slightly. As I did so, Dhugal handed his blood brother the drinking horn to hold, pouring a portion of the Fianna into it and then setting the rest of the bottle aside for the rest of our guests to consume later, during the wedding meal itself.

These tasks done, we both crossed the room to meet at the center of it, facing each other, echoing the ageless betrothal pledge of Llyr in the presence of witnesses.

"I offer for thee, Dhugal MacArdry." I held the warm bread close to his lips. "Taste the sweetness of shared life and fruitfulness I offer thee."

"I accept thine offer, Catriona of Llyr. May th' Swift Sure Hand grant us both long life an' fruitfulness together." He took my hand, guiding it the rest of the way, taking a bite of the bread before releasing me. I ate what remained, as we shared this symbolic meal.

Then he held out the drinking horn. "I offer tae thee, Catriona of Llyr, from my bounty an' provision. Taste th' pleasures an' th' solace tha' I offer thee."

I drank deeply from the horn, then offered it back for him to consume what was left of the Fianna. "So shall I share in both thy sorrows and thy joys," I affirmed.

We joined hands then, and continuing on in the ways of my people, I began the sacred wedding oath once spoken by my mother and hers before her:

_"I vow you the first cut of my meat, the first sip of my wine,  
from this day it shall be only your name I cry out in the night  
and into your eyes that I smile each morning."_

Dhugal's eyes smiled into mine as he completed the oath:

_"I shall be a shield for yer back as ye are for mine,  
nor shall a grievous word be spoken about us,  
for our marriage is sacred between us an' no stranger shall hear my grievance.  
Above an' beyond this, I will cherish an' honor you through this life  
an' intae th' next."_

When we had finished, Michael passed around goblets for all, that our guests could partake of the rest of the Fianna and Duncan's mead as well, while Mhairi cut off slices of bread for all and Corin ladled up hearty bowls of venison stew for everyone. And so began our wedding feast.

Midway through, my brother disappeared from the solar, reappearing a minute or two later to bend and whisper in my ear, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "I've left a wedding present by your bedside; something suitable for a priest of Shiele, I hope."

I raised an eyebrow, knowing my brother. "What sort of present, _a deartháir_?"

A mischievous grin. "Anointing oils. I'm sure you'll find some sort of sacramental use."

Once all were nearly done with the meal, Bishop Duncan slipped quietly into the adjoining chamber where Mhairi and Michael had already decked out the bridal bed and prepared the bathwaters ahead of time, that they might cool to a more comfortable warmth by the time the guests had departed. Sensing his intent, I whispered a quick excuse to Richenda, with whom I'd been conversing, and entered the bridal chamber behind him.

Duncan's blue eyes swept the room, then smiled their approval down at me. "It smells nice in here. Is that evergreen?"

"Aye...juniper and rosemary, with hints of bay and cedar. It's in the candles and the soap; I thought the outdoorsy scents more fitting for a border lord than frankincense and myrrh."

He chuckled softly, giving me a sidelong look. "Depends on the border lord, but yes, they're much more fitting for my son." He glanced across the room at the bridal bed, decked out with holly and ivy, as befitted a wedding bower in the wintry season. "I need to slip out a little early, but I wanted to bless your bed before I leave. _And_ the bride, if she'll permit me."

"She would be greatly honored."

He squeezed my hand, then released it, moving towards the bed to say the traditional prayer of blessing over it in the manner of Gwynedd, the beloved voice uttering the Latin words with the practiced ease of long familiarity. Then, with a glance back at me, he prayed again, this time in the lilt and cadences of my own island tongue—a short Llyrian blessing. He laughed at my surprised look afterwards. "Your brother taught me that one, daughter of Llyr."

Duncan turned fully to me then, his eyes alight with tender fire as he cupped my face in his gentle hands and said, "Walk with God and with your husband then, all the days of your life together, come what may, my precious anamchara. I wish you and my son great joy in each other." Humor broke free in a boyish grin. "And in case I haven't already made it abundantly clear to that son already, I'll tell his bride as well—I want heirs!"

I laughed. "Well, far be it from me to disappoint my anamchara! I'll be sure to get to work on that straight away."

"Oh, you can wait until your guests leave first. I'm not in quite _that_ much of a rush. Nine months and an hour will do." He bent then, brushing a swift kiss on each of my cheeks. A final kiss landed on my lips, butterfly light, gone in the next instant. Coming from him, the trinity of kisses felt like a benediction.

"Come, let me hand you back to your husband, then I'll be off."

We turned. Dhugal stood in the doorway, watching us with a faint questioning smile. "I dinnae know ye spoke Llyrian," he told his father.

"I'm afraid that blessing was the only Llyrian I know, besides 'Your ale tastes of horse piss' and a few other phrases of questionable merit," he informed his son, blue eyes laughing.

"Ah, I see," Dhugal replied, his amber gaze reflecting that laughter back at his sire. "An' wha's the Llyrian for 'Wi' all respect, get yer episcopal arse out o' my bedchamber so I can bed my bonny bride a'ready'? I hae need o' tha' one now, I think."

The bishop chuckled. "I can take a hint." His eyes met mine once more, and then he took my hand and placed it in his son's, transferring his gaze to Dhugal's with a smile, then took his leave of us and of our assembled company.

Once Duncan had left, the others took this as their cue to make their final farewells, coming forward in ones and twos to embrace Dhugal and myself and offer fond wishes for our future happiness. Kelson lingered behind, along with Sister Rothana, to be our bath-witnesses, the Queen having deferred that place of honor to the princess of Nur Hallaj, knowing that the young religious had been my confidant during my years of absence from Dhugal's side.

I entered my bridal bower with Rothana, handing my wedding garments to her to fold neatly and store as I slipped into the awaiting bath. She lightly assured my husband, waiting on the other side of the wall, that she saw no flaws of note in his new bride that would prove any impediment to sealing our marriage. Kelson, for his part, did the same for Dhugal, the low murmur of voices and bursts of ribald laughter continuing behind the wall making me wonder what bawdy jests the blood brothers were exchanging between them, although Kelson discreetly kept these to himself, aside from calling out, "I don't think you'll have a problem with the bridegroom not being ready! He seems quite eager to mount his campaign into Llyr, although we've hit upon a slight snag. It appears his dressing robe has made it into your chamber before him. I don't suppose I might enter briefly...?"

"No!" said Rothana, wide-eyed as I erupted with laughter, echoing her refusal almost instantly. She searched the bridal bower, eventually finding the missing garment and hastily handing it to Kelson through the doorway. With his friend now decently covered, Kelson offered Rothana his arm, calling out his best wishes to me through the wall, and the last two of our witnesses left to rejoin the others, leaving me alone with my new husband at last.

#

"I dinnae s'pose it's quite th' done thing in Llyr tae consummate th' weddin' afore ye've even left th' bath?" Dhugal grinned at me as if he were contemplating his chances of persuading me into doing just that.

I laughed, slathering his wet limbs with the woodsy-green soap I'd made especially for this special day. "Oh, I'm sure it happens, though that certainly would defeat its ceremonial purpose." I handed him the soap bowl so he could lather me up as well. "On the other hand, there's nothing that says we can't return to the bath later. Unless, of course, you were planning on rolling over and going straight to sleep after we've sealed our vows?"

"No' a chance! Ye made a tactical error, Cat, in leavin' me three years tae think upon how best tae carry out a siege on Llyr." The amber eyes glinted impishly. "Nay, 'tis a lengthy campaign I hae planned for ye, _a chuisle mo chridhe_, an' ye'll be lucky if ye get any sleep at all..."

#

"_I am my beloved's, and my beloved is mine..." _The Shulammite bride's words from the _Canticum Canticorum_ echoed through my mind as my bridegroom enfolded me in his ardent embrace on our bridal bed, his mind and all his senses opening to my own and mine to his, drawing me into the rich and heady delights of our deeply shared rapport as we became fully known one to another for this first of many times to follow. The intimacy of hearts and minds thus joined was but sweet prelude to the joining of our flesh, as at long last Llyr yielded up the fullness of her treasures to bold Cassan.

# # #

**Epilogue**

The Year of Our Lord 1129

Eastertide, Rhemuth

I spotted my husband and his father up ahead, in the same green glade where, years earlier, Duncan and I had first met. Delighted, I touched my heels to my horse's flanks, urging him forward. The horse, equally delighted that I was allowing him his head, surged forward at full speed, not breaking stride until we had reached the edge of the grassy verge, where I slowed him back down to a walk.

Dhugal met us then, taking my horse's reins as I dismounted, and fixing me with a stern glare. "Catriona! Ye should know better than tae gallop along like tha'!"

"Oh, quit fussing. I'm neither ill nor infirm, and a little bit of speed and fresh air is hardly going to hurt me." I stopped to offer my lord a quick kiss, then turned to hug his father.

My protective husband, however, was far from letting the matter rest. "An' wha' if yer horse had stumbled an' ye'd taken a fall? Ye cannae be takin' sae many risks anymore!"

I rolled my eyes at him. "Dhugal MacArdry McLain, I assure you, we are _fine_! It really wasn't all that rough a ride. You know a gallop is much smoother than a trot. And besides..." I grinned unrepentantly at my border duke. "If this babe of yours could survive his own begetting, a mere _horse_ isn't going to unseat him."

Dhugal gave a reluctant chuckle, his face flaming, as his father burst into hearty laughter. "Does this mean I'm to be a grandfather?" Duncan finally asked, once he could breathe again.

"Aye, sometime around Michaelmas, I think."

He beamed at me. "Late September? That's fast work, Kitten!"

"Well, you _did_ all but order me to produce an heir for your son in nine months and an hour. I did my best to oblige, anamchara." I took his hand, gently placing it on my abdomen. "Your Excellency, allow me the privilege of introducing you to the future Duke of Cassan and Earl of Kierney and Transha, Lord Duncan Michael Cauley MacArdry McLain."

There was nothing in the warmth of that spring day to match the wonder in my soul-friend's eyes.

# # #


End file.
